


Encore

by cincoflex



Category: Blue Bloods (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family Secrets, Home Sweet Home, The past is never past, wild oats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-01-16 16:45:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 29,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18525562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincoflex/pseuds/cincoflex
Summary: Frank and Briar Rose must overcome a few detours before getting married . . .





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Second Bloom.

She looked again, aware that something had blipped on her radar; some little thing maybe out of place or wrong or . . . . A quick scan while the commissioner was reading the report---

In her opinion the office was always a little overdone, Abby thought to herself. Old-fashioned with all the dark wood paneling, and certainly all the accent pieces carried over the machismo of law enforcement. But it wasn’t as if her boss didn’t have reason to display what he chose to share, and at least it was all tasteful, which she appreciated. No tacky or kitsch police memorabilia here, just earned awards and degrees, elegant displays, family photos—

Photos.

She glanced at the desktop and there, just under the banker’s lamp was a tiny silver frame—a new one. Barely two inches tall, Abby judged, gleaming in the morning light. Of course she was only seeing the back of it from this angle.

Curiosity flared up, and her detective skills kicked in. Months earlier Abby had noticed that her boss wasn’t wearing his wedding ring anymore; he’d replaced it with a pewter band decorated with Celtic knots. She’d seen the change but didn’t quite have the courage to ask about it. Frank Reagan was a good boss, but he’d always maintained a slightly formal tone with her; an avuncular distance that she appreciated. Still . . . while he generally played them close to the vest, these were slightly alarming signs.

She rose up and moved to the window, pretending to fiddle with the drapes, giving herself a moment to look towards the frame.

“Abby, you’re in my light,” Frank murmured, not looking up at her.

“Sorry. Did you want these open a little more?” she asked over her shoulder.

“They’re fine. So when were these numbers last updated?” he motioned to the sheet in front of him. “Old data is worse than no data.”

“Tezerick ran them last night . . . is there something off?” she leaned over, bouncing her glance between the columns and the image in the frame.

Frank said something but she missed it. Missed it because the photo startled her into a momentary synaptic misfire.

It was a photo of a woman.

She _knew_ the woman in the photo, yes she did. And it wasn’t Erin or Nicky or the late Mrs. Reagan.

No, this was someone completely unexpected, and Abby realized she was about two seconds behind the conversational cue. She drew in a quick breath. “Sorry I completely missed that. Could you repeat the question?”

Frank glanced up at her. “I asked where’s the projection for next year’s budget. Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Abby was quick to assure him, “Ah, isn’t it on the second sheet?”

As they flipped through the pages, Abby shot another quick glance at the photo to confirm her discovery.

Yep. The thin face, long silver hair, bright smile . . . definitely her, no mistaking the features of the woman who’d Heimlich-maneuvered her ages ago.

She also realized that Frank had caught her gaze and that he was now looking at her in that patient way of his. He was as open right now as he ever would be to the question, so steeling herself, Abby asked it.

“Um . . . why do you have a photo of Doctor Clowderbock on your desk, sir?”

Frank waited a beat, holding her gaze for a moment before answering. “Because there’s no room for it on the display cabinet behind me.”

Abby gawked and the tiniest curl of a smile came up under Frank’s heavy mustache. “Kidding. Actually, she’s here,” he nodded towards the small photo, “because we’re affianced. So I’m concerned about this line--”

“Wait!” Abby broke in, startled. “Affianced? As in she’s your _fiancée_?”

Frank gave her a patient glance. “Yes.”

“When did _this_ happen?” Abby demanded, and then flinched. You didn’t demand things of the Commissioner, but she was in it now, like it or not.

Frank sighed, and leaned back. “Over Christmas.”

Abby hesitated, feeling a little at a loss. “Um . . . congratulations. Sir.”

“Thank you.” He did smile then, and for the first time in a long time Abby saw genuine pleasure in his quick gaze. “Feel like a little bet?”

She glanced at the frame. “Like how long it’s going to take either Sid or Garrett to notice the photo?”

“Exactly,” he rumbled. “It took _you_ only seven minutes to pick up on it.”

She blushed a little. “I like the details of this room,” Abby admitted. “I’m . . . attuned to them.”

“Details matter,” Frank agreed. “So . . . any estimates?”

“Garrett, a week. Sid . . . a few months, if at all,” Abby shrugged. “So when’s the wedding?” She asked, finding the idea appealing. Having known her boss for years she always suspected under his generally calm demeanor that he might be a little lonely. It tickled her to think someone had slipped through his orderly deference.

“That’s still a work in progress,” he winced a little. “At least the church one; negotiations are taking some time. However,” Frank brightened a little, “that reminds me; did you confirm that lunch appointment with Judge Howard?”

“Yes, it’s on for Thursday next week,” Abby replied, connecting the dots a split second later. “Hold on; he’s _marrying_ you?”

“Well technically he’s marrying me to Briar Rose,” Frank pointed out. “Only fair; I asked her first.”

Abby planted her hands on the edge of the desk to steady herself as she glared patiently at her boss. “You’re doing this _deliberately_ , aren’t you?”

Frank took a breath and she watched emotions flicker over his face. “I don’t mean to have fun at your expense, although it’s a bit of a bonus. Yes, we are going through a civil ceremony next week with a religious one at a date to be decided upon later. As you know we’ve all just gotten _through_ a fairly big family wedding so I don’t blame her for wanting things to be low-key.”

Abby nodded, straightening up again. “I don’t recall seeing her at Jamie’s nuptials.”

“She was called in for an emergency C-section,” Frank admitted. “But she’s in the early photos at least.” 

“At least,” Abby agreed, softening a little. “Well congratulations again, sir. I’m really happy for you.”

Frank smiled at her. “Thank you, Detective.”

\--oo00oo—

It was just after five on Saturday morning. She watched him pack the cooler, trying not to chuckle at what was clearly a manly ritual for him. George too, seemed interested, but mostly because the scent of bait hung in the air.

So all those alternate Saturdays when you weren’t coming with me to the Farmer’s Market you were out fishing?” Briar Rose asked as she wrapped the remains of their breakfast casserole in foil.

“Yes.”

“Do you ever catch anything?”

She didn’t mean to sound doubtful; Frank looked a little hurt by the question. “ _Yes_ ,” he muttered, adjusting his baseball cap.

“All right then,” Briar Rose reassured him. “Fish is a healthy meal, and I know how to cook it. Whatever you bring home I can prepare.”

Frank pretended to be busy with the cooler. “Well it’s not a _sure_ thing you understand. No guarantee we’ll catch anything on any given Saturday. It’s more about getting outside and enjoying the experience.”

“Exactly,” she agreed, fighting a giggle. “All about spitting on the bait and hoping for a bite.”

“Spitting on the bait?” He looked over his shoulder at her. 

“Well yeah,” Briar Rose looked surprised. “That’s what my father taught me when we went out for trout at Glenwood Pond. You load up the hook and spit on it, then cast. It’s supposed to make the bait work better. Unless you’re fly-fishing; you don’t DARE spit on one of those fancy lures.”

Now he was looking at her with a strange expression—half surprise, half almost lust. “You never told me you knew _how_ to fish,” Frank accused.

“Sweetheart, you never asked,” Briar Rose replied, picking up the casserole leftovers and tucking them into the refrigerator. “I may have lived in New York for the last thirty years but I’m still rural at heart.” Turning back to him she added, “Don’t you _dare_ think about me in waders!”

“Too late,” Frank murmured, smiling so his dimples showed. “Oooh what a mental picture!”

“Sorry, I’m strictly a hook and bobber fisher,” Briar Rose assured him. “Fly fishing is for rich people. All right then. You and Danny have fun, all right?” She held out the coffeepot, topping off the thermos in his hand and when it was full, added the sugar before Frank screwed the top on it.

“You could come,” he offered, but Briar Rose shook her head.

“Another Saturday. You two need to share time together. Besides, Nicky and Erin are helping me move some things and you don’t want to get roped into that.”

He smirked and kissed her before picking up the cooler and heading out. Briar Rose watched him go and smiled to herself; it amused her how easily this lifestyle change had happened. After the shooting at the hospital Frank had brought her here to the house on Harbor Terrace and bit by bit it had become the default. She’d tried returning to Dyker Heights, but found she didn’t sleep as well on her own, and the solitude she’d once embraced was not nearly as fulfilling as it once was.

Not that she’d ever love the noise and clash of the Reagans full-time, but as Frank had shown her, there were enough floors to the house in Bay Ridge that she could escape to peace and quiet whenever she wanted. He’d given her the entire dormer attic in fact, having the walls painted in her favorite shade of sage, and arranging for the better pieces of her furniture to be delivered there.

“It just makes sense,” Frank had told her. “We _are_ getting married, so we might as well start setting things up to your liking.”

Briar Rose appreciated that sentiment more than she wanted to admit. It was still difficult to wrap her head around the idea of marriage, let alone being the _second_ Mrs. Reagan. The house had seemed intimidating at first, but she’d come to realize that while it held sentiment and memories it wasn’t a shrine, and that she was wanted here by _all_ of them.

And that was both comforting and scary.

Her phone pinged; a text from Erin. //On our way. Bringing smoothies.//

Briar Rose glanced down at George. “All right Fuzzy Boy; let’s go see what more we can bring back.”

*** *** ***

The breeze was fresh, and the day clear; Frank took a look out over the water, admiring the pale skyline as he did so, enjoying the morning. He’d always been an early riser, ready the face the day as soon as possible.

Danny however, was yawning, his night-owl tendencies apparent. He was leaning against the pier railing, one hand on it, the other wrapped around the reel of the fishing rod in a loose grip. Frank hoped nothing hit the bait hard; his son was going to get one hell of a finger slash if that nylon line started to pay out quick. He almost said something, but Danny shifted his grip a second later.

“Long night?” he murmured to his son. “We could have cancelled.”

Danny shook his head. “Nah. I needed to get out. Sometimes you don’t realize you’re in a rut until something like fishing sounds good.”

“Fishing _is_ good,” Frank replied a little defensively. “Makes you slow down and think.”

“Yeah well at this rate I’m thinking mostly about how we’ll probably have to stop at the market and pick up something from the fish counter if we’re going to have a dinner tonight,” Danny grinned though to lighten the sarcasm. “Think anyone would believe we caught a big fillet of salmon? Or a pound of de-veined shrimp?”

“Ye of little faith,” Frank snorted, and settled back, watching the thin filament arching out from the tip of his rod. The breeze picked up, flicking across the bay, ridging up the water between Staten Island and Brooklyn.

Danny reeled in a little of his line, the clicks ticking as he did. “So . . . it’s this coming week? The civil one?”

“Thursday,” Frank comfirmed. “Amos Howard’s agreed to do it if we buy him lunch first.”

Danny gave a brief smile. “Bribing a judge . . . doesn’t look good.”

“Not so much a bribe as a contribution to his waistline,” Frank replied. He caught his son’s expression and shifted closer, blocking some of the breeze as he turned to him. “Okay, let’s _have_ it.”

Danny gave a sigh, returning the look. “It’s just . . . hard to grasp, exactly. I mean we all need to move on and keep living. I get that. That’s kind of what Reagans do. And Briar Rose is nice enough. She’s not trying to be mom, thank God. It’s just . . . I looked into her, all right?” The defiant glance told Frank where the conversation was headed, and he set his expression.

“I know you did.”

Danny gave a hard sigh. “Of _course_ you did. So you know what I’m talking about here.”

Frank waited a beat. “The medical marijuana prescription.”

Danny’s head whipped around, his gaze wide. “ _What_? Wait, that’s _not_ . . . _I_ meant the three times she’s been held for disorderly conduct . . . what do you _mean_ she’s got a prescription?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Do you think they’d go for it?” Briar Rose asked Erin softly as they sat in the kitchen of the house on 85th street, sharing the last of the smoothies. Nicky had agreed to take George for a walk so it was just the two of them, a little dusty and tired but feeling good about the finished packing.

Erin looked around thoughtfully. “They’d be crazy _not_ to,” she admitted. “Good neighborhood, spacious, especially for a first one, and I’m sure you guys can come to some decent financial arrangement. Hell, _I’d_ jump on it if I wasn’t already locked in at my place.”

“I just . . . I don’t want it to come off as charity, or some sort of controlling maneuver though,” Briar Rose sighed. “Your brother has that Reagan sense of pride and I can tell he’s the type who wants to make it on his own so I need to do this carefully, you know?”

Erin nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, that’s a pretty good read on him. Maybe setting it up as being more helpful to _you_ than to him would make it easier. Play on that sense of gallantry he’s got. And of course there’s Eddie to consider as well. This would be a nice step up from where they are now.”

It was a generous offer, and Erin was touched that the other woman would even make it, given how long she’d lived here. It was definitely a well-loved house from what she could see.

Briar Rose smirked. “Agreed, but you didn’t hear me say it. I’m still trying to figure out how best to make the offer and whether I should try it over Sunday dinner.”

“Whoa now, that’s liable to blow up in your face,” Erin warned. “It’s one thing to talk to Jamie and Eddie, and another to throw it out to the whole family, B-Rose. Dad and Grandpa will have things to say and Danny would start applying pressure . . . and yeah, no. In the face of that sort of full-court press, Jamie’s more likely reject it. Better to discuss it privately.”

Briar Rose nodded. “I _knew_ you were the right Reagan to bring into my confidence on this.”

Erin laughed. “Let’s just say those dinners have been the best cross-examination training ground ever. Doesn’t hurt I know nearly everyone’s hot buttons too. So . . .” she moved to change the subject, “Nervous about Thursday?”

It was amusing to see Briar Rose blush. “A little,” she admitted. “You know the saying ‘always a bridesmaid, never a bride,’ and I have a closetful of dresses to prove it.”

“All those ones in the upstairs hall closet? What are there, about six?” Erin chuckled.

“About,” Briar Rose agreed. “I should give them away, honestly. All but the one with the glitter and bloodstains I guess.”

Erin blinked and set her cup down. “Ah . . . glitter and bloodstains?”

Briar Rose rolled her eyes. “Peaches St. Glory’s Commitment ceremony back in the early eighties. Apparently there was a mix-up about the required permit to hold it at Christopher Park and her six foot three girlfriend got into it with one of the authorities. We all got hauled in but because I, uh, rendered first aid on the scene I was let off the hook.”

“Peaches St. Glory?” Erin echoed, spluttering giggles.

Briar Rose looked towards the kitchen ceiling. “A lesbian stripper and good friend. She had ovarian cancer that we caught early on, thank goodness. Peaches and Moira still send me Christmas and birthday cards every year.”

“Sounds wild.”

“You should have been at their bachelorette party,” Briar Rose told her with a smirk. “Strippers stripping for other strippers without a man in sight and me thinking it all looked too much like a day at the office.”

Erin lost it, laughing out-loud, nearly dropping her smoothie cup. Fortunately Nicky returned with George, looking suspiciously from one women to the other. “What? What did I _miss_?”

“Oh we were just talking about strippers,” Briar Rose told her with a straight face.

“Oh cool! So you’re going to have a bachelorette party before Thursday?” Nicky brightened. “I’ve always _wanted_ to go to one!”

“What? No, I don’t think--” Briar Rose began, but Erin waggled her eyebrows.

“Oh hold on, you should. WE should,” she interjected. “Not a REAL one,” she shot a chiding look at her daughter before turning back to Briar Rose. “Honestly, we can actually make it just a girl’s night over at my place if you like, but please, please let me _suggest_ it at dinner! I am DYING to see Dad’s reaction to that!”

“Your father--” Briar Rose began, and Erin watched her expression shift into something mischievous after a few seconds of consideration.

“Oooh, Grampa will do that quiet freak-out thing,” Nicky predicted, grinning. “You know he will.”

“Frank doesn’t freak out,” Briar Rose objected, but both Erin and Nicky rolled their eyes, nearly synchronously. 

“Yes he does,” Erin countered. “Anything out of his league and Dad starts looking distressed, big-time. You can actually _see_ his mustache twitch. We won’t tease him for long, because that’s mean, but honestly? Just a _little_ bit would be fun.”

“You have an evil sense of humor, Erin,” Briar Rose accused.

“Of course,” Erin admitted freely, grinning. “Part of being a Reagan. So, we’re doing this?”

She watched as Briar Rose sighed and threw her hands in the air. “Fine,” the woman gave in with a chuckle. “Should make tomorrow’s dinner . . . interesting.”

\--oo00oo—

There was no fish, but Briar Rose didn’t hold it against Frank; instead she and Henry had picked out a good sized pot roast and spent the better part of the time after church cooking it with new potatoes, steamed vegetables and a rich pepper gravy. The last was Henry’s specialty and he bragged a little as he stirred the saucepan.

“Secret’s all in grinding the pepper fresh. Gives it the right bite.”

“Pepper’s good,” Briar Rose agreed as she put the last of the biscuit topping on the huge blackberry cobbler and set it in the oven. “Okay, this should bake for fifty minutes so I predict we can pull it out just was we clear the table.”

“Perfect,” Henry agreed. “Timing is everything.”

“In a kitchen, yes,” Briar Rose peeked out to the dining room where Nicky was setting the table. “Got it?”

“Got it,” the girl agreed. “Smells great.”

Within twenty minutes the meal was ready and Sean led the Grace, his voice a mumble. At the ‘Amen’ everyone reached for their napkins. Briar Rose passed plates down to Frank’s end of the table as people settled in.

“So,” Danny began. “Thursday’s the day, huh?”

“Yes,” Briar Rose replied, curious as to his tone which wasn’t particularly warm. She watched Frank shoot his son a look that Danny ignored.

“You and Dad, married by the laws of New York,” Danny went on. “Legally bound as it were.”

“That’s generally the way it works,” Frank murmured and Briar Rose heard something in his tone that set her defenses up.

The rest of the Reagans were glancing at each other curiously, but nobody interjected although Henry shot a sharp stare up the table towards his grandson.

“Anything you want to _share_ with us before then, B-Rose?” Danny continued.

The silence at the table instantly took on a strain, and Briar Rose saw Frank ready to speak up, but a worried Jamie beat him to the punch. “All right Danny, what’s this all about?”

“Honesty,” his brother snapped back. “You know, one of those important virtues we’re supposed to uphold in a family. Being open and truthful about certain matters—”

“Danny, _stop_ ,” Frank rumbled. “Not the time or place.”

“Oh I think it is,” Danny snapped back defiantly. “Family’s all here, we can get this out in the open--” 

“Get _what_ out in the open?” Henry’s hard question cut across the table as he stared at his grandson. 

In it now, Danny set his fork down and looked instead to Briar Rose. “Are you gonna tell them, or will I?” 

“Daniel—” This time the menace in Frank’s voice was unmistakable. 

Briar Rose understood. She took a deep breath and spoke up, locking eyes with Danny. “By all _means_ then. He’s hinting about my prescription for medical marijuana.” 

The shocked looks around the table nearly made her laugh, but she didn’t dare give in to her nervousness, particularly since Frank’s sudden sorrow was evident. She pushed on, working at keeping her voice level. “Yes. I use cannabis. I was in a car accident in nineteen eighty-six where a crumpled car door sliced into my abdomen, gashing part of my large intestine, severing my right Fallopian tube and gouging through half my uterus.” 

“Aw geez,” Henry yelped, but she continued. 

“I went through surgery and I bless the doctors at Presbyterian but one thing they couldn’t predict was how the nerves would heal. Most of them did, but not all. At random and unpredictable times I suffer pain. Debilitating pain. For a while I nearly became addicted to morphine, and my tolerance for alcohol is far too high for that to be helpful. Finally my friend Lucas suggested cannabis as a possible alternative and it works. Any questions?” 

George’s worried whine from under the table cut through the embarrassed silence. Briar Rose narrowed her eyes at Danny, who was flushed, shifting uneasily in his seat. “Is _that_ what you wanted? Or is there _more_ that I need to confess to?” 

“Look, I’m sorry,” Danny blurted, “I am. I knew you’d been in a car accident—” 

“I think maybe this family takes being detectives a _little_ too seriously for my personal comfort,” Briar Rose murmured cuttingly. She set her napkin on the table. “And quite honestly, I’m sure most of _you_ have personal histories and habits of your own that you wouldn’t want shared across the dinner table.” 

“Very. True,” Frank replied, shifting his gaze from her to Danny, who took another deep breath. 

“You’re right,” he admitted running a hand through his short hair. “I . . . messed up here. I went overboard this time and I shouldn’t have done it. I’m _sorry_ , B-Rose I truly am.” 

His painful sincerity made her eyes tear up. Briar Rose got up, walking over to him and giving Danny a hug as he rose to return it. “All right then,” she murmured quietly to him. “Next time, just . . . _talk_ to me.” 

“Yeah, Danny agreed, his voice uneven. “I will. Promise.” 

Instantly the tension drained; she felt the entire dining room decompress. Over Danny’s shoulder she saw Frank’s big shoulders shift out of high tension mode and Eddie was sharing a soft look with Jamie. 

“Okay then,” Henry commented. “So B-Rose’s meds are _not_ our business, we all got that?” 

A murmur of agreement went around the table, and Briar Rose gave a crooked grin. “Thank you.” 

After a moment of the table settling back into normality as they started to pass plates again, Nicky grinned. 

“Hey, would this be a good time to talk about your bachelorette party and the oiled up hunky male strippers, B-Rose?” 

At the head of the table, Frank suddenly looked as if he’d bitten a particularly potent Key Lime. 


	3. Chapter 3

Frank braced himself for the fallout, well-aware that he deserved it. The fishing trip with Danny hadn’t been as successful as he’d hoped, clearly, and he should have anticipated his son’s grandstanding. Even though matters seemed to be settled, his beloved did have a right to be pissed.

He stepped out of the bathroom fully prepared to let Briar Rose chide him for not intervening sooner. Instead, Frank found her waiting for him in a tiny nightgown he’d never seen before. Not that he knew them _all_ and anyway most of them ended up on the floor or at the foot of their bed by mutual agreement.

But this one was black lace, which was one of his personal weaknesses. A weakness Frank knew that _she_ knew, which made it all the more difficult to face up to her. In the muted light of the bedside lamp Briar Rose had her lustrous silver hair down as well, adding yet more temptation to the moment. He gazed at her feeling desire warring with shame rising in him. “Briar Rose . . .”

“Sit,” she pointed to the edge of the bed, order firm.

Startled, Frank did it, even before he realized he had, annoyed when it dawned on him. “Listen, I’m sorry--” he began, leaning forward.

“Hush,” Briar Rose murmured sweetly, coming forward and catching his face in her two hands, tipping it so he was forced to look up at her. She moved closer, coming to stand between his knees and Frank suddenly had to contend with a flare of lust as his body responded to the confusing sensations without even consulting his brain.

“Briar—”

“No, be quiet,” she chided him, fingers caressing the sides of his jawline. “Just listen to me. I appreciate that you let me deal with Danny without trying to take charge, sweetheart. I know that was hard but it really did help firm up that I can handle things myself. A little heads-up might have been nice, but that’s all right. Things worked out.”

Frank tried to agree, but Briar Rose’s thumbs were stroking over his bottom lip. He tried to kiss one but she pulled it back. “Ah,” she chided him. “So here’s how it goes. On Wednesday night I will go to Erin’s and stay there. Thursday around eleven I’ll meet you at Judge Howard’s chambers and we will . . . make things legal.” As she spoke she climbed up to straddle him and the warm weight of her on his lap, pressing _precisely_ where it did the most good left Frank trying not to cross his eyes. He wrapped his arms around her. 

“Yes,” Frank agreed. “But—”

“Sorry, it’s traditional not to see the bride before the wedding . . .” Briar Rose bent to nip his earlobe. “Dear Lord you smell nice!”

Frank fell backwards, taking her with him to the mattress, aware that while he was losing his logical train of thought, he was gaining the immediate gratification of a barely covered woman on top of him.

So different. Briar Rose was so different from Mary Margaret. They were both amazing women, both strong brave souls and saints to put up with him but when it came to the bedroom Frank couldn’t deny that Briar Rose knew him far better than Mary Margaret ever did.

Upbringing, he knew. Both he and his late wife had the weight of family expectations and Catholic backgrounds and somewhat basic information about sex. He’d learned a lot more than she had from his time with the Marines of course, not all of it shareable, and while Mary would never even _think_ of turning him away aside from those few days of her period, she never took as much pleasure in it as he did.

And that had always saddened him a little. She rarely let him go beyond straightforward missionary style intercourse—“the way God intended,” as she would say—but Frank often attempted to make sex something for both of them to enjoy. Mary Margaret tried, but he knew she was agreeing simply to please him and after a while he gave up. The cuddling and pillow talk and love afterwards went a long way to assuage his guilt and he let his libido wane over time.

After all, four children were plenty.

Then Mary Margaret died, and Frank had stopped thinking of sex altogether, too caught up in grief and then resignation. He’d poured his time and energy into his career, ruthlessly tamping down any stray erotic thoughts, tinged as they were with guilt and sorrow. It worked to his benefit for a long time. All the way until a certain doctor put herself into his obligation through public service.

It was the crock pot that did it, of course. He HAD to return it, and that meant seeing her again. It was that first easy excuse to revisit Dyker Heights, and barter for potatoes and enjoy the company of someone who wasn’t intimidated by him. Frank had forgotten how comforting a quiet morning with a dog, a cup of good coffee and a smiling woman could be, and the fact that the woman was funny and rangy and brilliant helped. 

He kept coming back, even though his common sense told him he didn’t have to, and later when Frank had watched Briar Rose race through Owl’s Head Park, lanky body moving in easy confident strides, something emotional inside him cracked. Maybe it was the joy in her expression, or the sensual swing of her stride; maybe it was both, but his libido surged, and that night, he dreamed of those long, long, legs wrapping around him, of those lips opening under his.

After waking, Frank cleaned himself up and faced his chagrined expression in the bathroom mirror, aware that he had a decision to make. And after some mis-steps and misunderstandings though, he managed. One good kiss between them made it clear that Doctor Clowderbock had some reciprocal feelings of her own, much to his joy and relief. 

And shock. Briar Rose had as strong a drive as he did and far, far fewer reservations about what she wanted to do _with_ him and _to_ him and hell, in _general_. Frank wanted to believe it was because her entire career was centered around reproduction, but couldn’t quite make himself believe it. No, he had to face the facts that his beloved had a lot of her own experiences, and even now he wasn’t always comfortable with that.

But the benefits, good Lord the benefits! Briar Rose had no problem asking him what he liked, or telling him what felt good. She teased him in ways he’d never been teased, and her enthusiasm was so honest and joyful that Frank felt a sense of wonder every time they made love.

“Want you,” Briar Rose broke into his musings, her hands tugging open his bathrobe and sliding down his bare chest, “but first, as a potential bride I need to check out the offerings.”

“My offerings?” Frank snorted looking up at her. “I think you know damned well my ‘offerings’ are just fine.”

“Oh really? Should I stop then?” Briar Rose flicked her thumbs over his nipples in a way that made hot tension pang through him, and her smile was wonderfully filthy. “Oooh, perky.”

“Good for the goose,” Frank shot back, big hands coming to cup her full breasts through the thin lace. “I see I’m not alone in this department.”

She wriggled. “Your hands are cold!”

“I’m warming them up. My, what big _cíches_ you have,” Frank told her, grinning. “Shame to let them go to waste.”

“All Clowderbock women are skinny with big chests,” Briar Rose sighed. “It’s genetic.”

“It’s a gift,” Frank assured her. “One I’m more than happy to receive.”

And he was.

\--oo00oo—

Henry went out to fetch the paper, feeling his joints ache a bit. He scooped up the Times and carried it back in, to the kitchen, wondering if it was time to let the subscription go—much as he loved the quiet of the morning, flipping through the pages, there was something to be said for not having to haul it in all the way from the curb each morning, especially on chilly ones.

“You,” he told George, who looked at him with bright eyes. “ _You_ should be fetching the paper, right? That’s what dogs are supposed to do.”

George wagged his tail and waited until Henry was seated before leaning up against his chair, forming a sort of hairy half-rug against the man and accepting the little pats that came between page turnings.

Henry sighed. “Fine. I guess your actual job is to look good and keep the squirrels out of the birdfeeder. Not bad work if you can get it. Let’s see how our teams are doing today.”

He read through the entire sports section and hunted for the comics, thinking about the week to come with a sense of satisfaction. Henry smiled. “So . . . by Thursday you really _will_ be a member of the family, George. Whadya think of that?”

A few tail thumps assured Henry that George was happy about it too. Henry ran a hand down the dog’s sleek head, sighing, feeling a sense of satisfaction.

Frank getting married again. Not something Henry ever thought would happen, if he was being honest with himself. His son was a lot of things: dedicated, smart, cautious and prudent. But when Mary died, it seemed like a whole part of Frank had closed itself off, and while Henry understood—he’d gone through the same sort of grief himself when Betty passed—it hurt to see how Frank let it ossify.

Loss was always hard, Henry acknowledged. He wouldn’t live through 2001 again for every earthly temptation known to man. Losing his Betty had been bad enough and then the attack on the city . . . even now he wasn’t sure how he made it through that God-awful year. Family helped, and there was certainly enough work to keep him busy, but Henry remembered empty hours before dawn when the tiny terrible temptation to go find his service revolver . . . 

_Never_ , he chided himself. There were people who needed him and come Thursday there would be one more. He’d have a new daughter-in-law in Briar Rose and that was a special sort of blessing. Henry thought back to the first time he’d heard about her, grinning.

_“What’s in the crockpot?”_

_And Frank looking embarrassed. “Succotash.”_

_“Succotash?” He had stared at his son, taking in the faint flush on Frank’s face; the uncharacteristic fidgeting as he shifted his weight. “Where did THIS come from?”_

_“A gift from a . . . friend.”_

_“A friend. A friend who gives away . . . succotash.”_

_And Frank had made that helpless face Henry hadn’t seen in years; the look of a man secretly pleased and unable to say why._

_That’s when he’d suspected._

_“Would this friend be a woman?” he’d teased, setting up the pot near the outlet and plugging it in. He’d tried to open the lid but Frank had dropped a big hand on it protectively._

_“It would and my instructions are clear. No opening until we’re ready to serve.”_

_“Ahhh,” Henry remembered grinning. “A gal who cooks. Sounds promising.”_

And the dish had been good. Good enough that both Danny and Jamie wanted to finish it off, but there was Frank, scooping it out and downing it with a smug expression that had left his sons a little crestfallen. 

Then the _pies_ started coming, and Henry could read the writing on the wall. Whoever this gal was, she’d found the easiest way through to his son—kindness. Generosity was one of those virtues Reagans extended but didn’t always get back, so when the leggy woman with the big eyes and runaway dog had showed up one Sunday afternoon the die had been cast, Henry knew. 

“Yep, all good,” he murmured, hearing footsteps coming down the stairs. Light ones, so Briar Rose. He looked up as she came into the kitchen making a beeline to the coffeepot. “Mornin’.”

“Morning,” she murmured back, muffling a little yawn. Henry tried not to grin, but the direct correlation between that reflex and the faint but steady noises he’d tried to ignore during the night was pretty clear.

He decided to be impish. “Sleep well?”

“Oh yes,” Briar Rose told him, and as she passed behind him, she dropped a light kiss on the top of his head.

Henry grinned, rattling the paper. Yep, it was gonna be a good day.


	4. Chapter 4

“Soooo we have Gourmet popcorn and Ding Dongs and fancy tonic waters and a megabowl of candy,” Nicky pointed out proudly. “There are a _ton_ of movies on Netflixs, and I brought out _every_ nail color I have, even the Goth ones. I really wanted to get a few six-packs and dessert wines but mom shot THAT idea down,” she added with a disappointed sigh.

Briar Rose looked around the cute balloons and blankets spread out on living room floor and smiled. “It looks great, it really does. Thank you for taking me in.”

“Hey, it’s traditional!” Erin pointed out as she took Briar Rose’s suitcase. “I’m just sorry your friend Lainie couldn’t make it.”

“Yeah me too. She’d paint every nail a different color,” Briar Rose agreed. “But much as I love her, none of us need her head cold, especially tonight.”

“Yeah,” Nicky agreed. “So . . . is this like a regular slumber party, or are there particular things we do for a hen party?”

“Karaoke,” Briar Rose teased, slipping out of her shoes and coming to sit cross-legged on the sofa. “Lainie would wipe the floor with her version of ‘It’s Raining Men.”

Nicky laughed, coming over to sit next to her. “Oh man, that would have been a hoot! So . . . what do you want to do _first_?”

She liked Briar Rose, liked how she did her hair and how she really looked at a person when they asked a question. Nicky thought that was probably because she was a doctor, but after a while reconsidered that it was more a Briar Rose trait. And she was smart, and man it was really good to have another woman in the family. Maybe now some of the conversations could be about something other than current cases and police procedures and situational ethics. Nicky loved her family and was proud of what they did, but sometimes she thought Sunday dinner felt like a college seminar straight out of the academy.

Not that it was terrible or anything but once in a while it would be nice to talk about television shows, or the environment, or the best-seller list. Stuff that _other_ people talked about over food.

“I was thinking of ordering a pizza,” Briar Rose murmured, bringing her back to the here and now, “and I brought a jar of honey-mud for facials.”

“Ohh, tell me it’s the Jezebel brand with the little glitter hearts in it!” Nicky chirped, delighted when Briar Rose nodded.

“Absolutely. And a tingle rinse for afterwards because we’re fancy like that.”

Erin joined them and pulled out her cell phone. “I see we’re living big tonight. All right, I’ve got Cassano’s on speed dial, so what do we want?”

They ordered a large veggie with extra cheese along with breadsticks, and during the wait chose nail polish while Nicky flipped through the television offerings.

“What do you want to watch? Lots of choices here . . . .”

“Something with handsome men,” Briar Rose suggested, grinning. “Shirtless ones.”

“I like the way your mind works,” Erin agreed. “Beefcake!”

Nicky shot her mother a glance, feeling pleased. They’d had their ups and downs but it was nice to see Mom getting into it. Having a good time. “We could always look for a Robert Downey Jr. movie. Mom’s SO got the hots for him,” she tattled.

“He’s a talented actor!” Erin spluttered, going a little red in the face. 

“Yeah, well the only movies of his you like are the ones where he gets naked. Reformation, Less than Zero, the Singing Detective . . .” Nicky recited just to watch her mother’s blush deepen.

“ _Nicole_!”

“Good taste,” Briar Rose interjected, waving a thin hand. “All it means is your mother has good taste. He’s from New York too, so it’s sort of like rooting for the home team.”

“Well you’re the bride to be so you can pick,” Nicky assured her. “We’ll watch _your_ favorite hunk.”

It was funny to watch Briar Rose get a little embarrassed. “My favorite. Wow, well he was very big in the Eighties, but I don’t think you’ll find any of his theatrical movies except on VHS tapes nowadays.” She mentioned the name and Nicky shook her head, not familiar with the man, but Erin smiled, nodding.

“Oh HIM! Well he does TV mostly now, but as for real movies . . . yeah. It’s been a while.”

“Look under Westerns,” Briar Rose suggested to Nicky. “He did a lot of those.”

\--oo00oo—

Frank did all the things he normally would do on a Wednesday night: cleaned out the refrigerator; took out the garbage and recycling; reviewed his agenda for the next day; laid out his suit. Habits were good. They gave structure to life, and helped keep it on an even keel. Good habits were the framework to a good life. He’d learned that over the years. 

They also gave him time to consider matters more evenly. Frank liked to let his thoughts weigh the pros and cons of whatever was foremost on his mind at times like this. Normally he’d be thinking of department policy, or how best to avoid political wrangling. How to deal with the mayor; or how to start implementing some precinct-wide improvements.

Not tonight. Tonight he was thinking about retirement. It had been looming large in his thoughts for a while, in truth. Frank had toyed with the idea especially in moments of stress. Letting someone ELSE deal with bureaucracy and digital paperwork and the ongoing grind of justice through the five boroughs. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his city or his work, he did. Frank had dedicated nearly four decades of his life to making sure the Big Apple was as safe and strong as possible, but Lord it was a tough job.

He did it to the best of his ability, and that was all anybody or any city could ask, Frank knew. The problem was two-fold though. First of all, if he retired, that meant someone else would step into the position, and Frank knew that neither of the two current candidates were up to it yet. And secondly, what would he DO with his newly freed time?

His libido pointed out that since he was getting married there would be plenty to _do_ and he grinned briefly at the thought. Yes, more time meant more opportunity, particularly that aspect. Having more time with Briar Rose was a very attractive prospect, one to look forward to.

But still . . . as for the rest of it . . . . He knew he could teach, especially at the academy. He knew he could go on the lecture circuit to other academies as a number of the predecessors had. Frank realized he could even write a book, although _not_ the sort Lenny had written . . .

As he mused on all these issues, his phone buzzed. Frank picked it up and noted the text was from Nicky.

//U need 2 see this!// was her message, followed by a video link. Frowning at the text slang, Frank dutifully tapped the link.

The camerawork was slightly shaky but the image was clear. Erin’s living room, and at center stage, singing her heart out into a hairbrush for a microphone was his beloved fiancée. Not only was she singing about shaking her booty but she was doing it in a way that clearly indicated that Briar Rose Clowderbock had definitely spent some time in discos. Startled, amused and aroused, Frank watched as she strutted, wiggled and danced her way through the song, tossing her hair like Tina Turner while Erin and Nicky cheered her on. 

She was gorgeous. Happy, laughing, having fun.

Frank grinned so hard his face hurt. He automatically saved the download and typed a return message. //She has _no_ idea you sent this, does she?//

//Nope. So U owe me big-time.// followed by a laughing emoji.

//Consider me in your debt.// Frank typed to his granddaughter, and then watched the video again.

\--oo00oo—

Yvonne Jackson looked over her reading glasses at the woman in front of her desk and managed a smile. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m here to see Judge Howard?” The woman didn’t sound too sure of herself but Yvonne could see she was done up in a taupe sleeveless turtleneck dress under her linen coat. Classy. The sort of get-up you’d see on one of the back pages of Elle. And her nails were a great shade of brown; Yvonne considered herself an expert on good nails.

“Do you have an appointment?” was the next question even as Yvonne ran one of her own talons down the screen, checking the judge’s schedule.

“Um, yes. Reagan? Clowderbock maybe?” The woman murmured.

“Yep, I see it here,” Yvonne confirmed. “Doin’ lunch with his honor. I’ll just let him know you’re here.”

“Thank you.”

Yvonne hauled herself out of her chair and lumbered to the judge’s door, knocking before peering around it. “Y’onor, your lunch date is here. One of ‘em anyway.”

“Oh good, send them in,” the judge boomed. Judge Howard always boomed. It was his trademark, and Yvonne had seen him put order in the court within seconds with it. Nobody messed around when Judge Howard was ON, that was for sure. 

She nodded turned to the lady. “Okay, this way ma’am.”

Yvonne watched the woman head in and sat at her desk once more, flicking to the tab she’d discreetly clicked away from, settling in to finish reading the rest of the story. _Oh yeah baby, PicardLvr128, y'all really bring the slash,_ she thought happily, but before she could read more than a few lines, another person approached her desk. She looked up.

Tall guy. Dark suit. Serious face. With a couple of men that even Yvonne could see were security. Faintly annoyed she tabbed away and straightened up. “Help you, sir?”

“Hi . . . Yvonne,” the man read from her nameplate on the edge of the desk. I’m here to see his honor Amos Howard,” the man told her pleasantly.

She glanced at the screen. “Would you be Reagan, or Clowder-back?”

“Reagan,” the man told her. “Police Commissioner Reagan.”

She flinched at that. _Shit!_ “Ah, yes _sir_. Just let me let the judge know . . .” Moving a little more quickly now, Yvonne moved to the door and knocked, barely waiting for the answer. “Y’onor, Commissioner Reagan is here for you?”

“Oh good! Send him on in then,” the judge told her. The pretty woman was looking kind of relieved. Yvonne pulled back and waved to the door. “Gentlemen.”

They filed past her, and she caught a whiff of three different colognes, which was more than she usually got in a week. Shaking her head, Yvonne sat down once more, wondering if the judge was going to have his lunch brought in. Sometimes he did, but usually he gave her a heads up about it and let her order too. 

She flicked the tab.

Someone else approached her. Sighing, Yvonne looked up. “Yes?”

“Hi, we’re here for Judge Howard’s lunch?” Another woman looking sleek in a frosted green cotton two-piece business suit. Lawyer probably, Yvonne figured, although the college girl with her was in some sort of yoga pants and flowery dress outfit that Yvonne knew she herself would NEVER fit into.

“I’m sorry ma’am but I only have two names down--”

“Reagan and Clowderbock, yes,” the woman smiled in that razor way that meant she was gonna _push_. Definitely a lawyer, Yvonne decided. “See, they’re getting married and since I _know_ the commissioner . . .”

“He’s her dad and my grandfather,” the girl spoke up. “We want to witness it.”

“Just a minute,” Yvonne rose again and knocked. “Ah, Judge, there are some . . . family members here . . .”

“Oh, send them in!” the judge boomed. 

Yvonne waved them in.

A wedding. That made sense.

Then came the two men. Cops, Yvonne knew, even though only one was in uniform. They BOTH had that ‘justice will prevail’ stride even though they looked different as night and day. “Yes?”

“We’re Reagans—“ Badges flashed in synch. She studied them a second.

“Go on in,” Yvonne sighed and they moved past her into the Judge’s chambers. 

The old geezer approaching her desk didn’t even have to open his mouth; Yvonne knew _his_ face. Hell, his portrait was down in the main hallway of the courthouse. “You’re a Reagan,” she told him with a little smile before he told her. “Used to be Commissioner, right?”

“Yep,” he told her. “I’m here for—"

“The wedding,” Yvonne nodded. “Yeah I know. Just go on in.”

Two minutes later-- Another cop, this one a curvy blonde who was out of breath. Yvonne beat her to the punch. 

“You a Reagan?”

The cop looked startled but nodded, holding out her ID. 

“Go on in,” Yvonne sighed looking with longing at the tab on her computer. “Just—how many more of you ARE there?”

The blonde shrugged apologetically. “Not sure . . .”

Then came the kid with the ‘congratulations’ balloons, the two delivery people with the flowers, and few more people including another blonde and two very harassed looking gentlemen, hurrying in and muttering something about being the last to know.

It dawned on Yvonne that the number of people now in Judge Howard’s chambers probably exceeded the limit set by the fire marshal.

She shrugged. _Not my problem_ , and settled in to finish PicardLvr128’s masterpiece.


	5. Chapter 5

Frank glanced around the crowded room, gauging the mood. Family was excited but restrained—for once. The other attendees and visitors seemed to be respectfully attentive and Judge Howard—Amos—was on the verge of laughing himself silly, looking over his horn-rim glasses at the crowd lining the walls of his chambers.

 _So much for a quick and discreet civil wedding_ , Frank thought. He looked at Briar Rose, hoping to reassure her and it alarmed him to see her biting her lower lip and trembling. Without hesitating he reached for her hand, squeezing the cold little grip with his one bigger, warmer one. “Are you okay?” he murmured.

She gave a chuff of a sigh. “Yes. Just . . . this is more than I was expecting, to be honest.”

“Me too,” Frank admitted, although he was well aware that even with just Reagans in attendance it would have been a full house. He looked to Amos and gave an encouraging smile. “I’m pretty sure we’re good to go now.”

“ _Sure_ about that? Not expecting a singing telegram or a line of Rockettes to join us?” Amos boomed out, grinning. “They’d have to get up on my desk at this point.”

The room snickered and Frank squeezed Briar Rose’s hand once more, feeling her squeeze back. “Pretty sure,” he told the judge. “And since everyone here is on the clock . . .”

“Right,” Amos agreed, pushing himself away from his desk and rising. He was an imposing man; big-bellied and dignified, with salt and pepper hair combed straight back from his forehead. He came around to stand in front of the couple and reached a hand to Briar Rose, shaking hers when she offered it. “You are Doctor Briar Rose Clowderbock, I take it. Charming names, all of them. Sure you want to give that _last_ one up to be a Reagan?”

“I’m hyphenating it,” she told him. “Something old, something new.”

“I approve,” he beamed. “Clowderbock-Reagan. Rolls off the tongue. All right then.” He looked around, raising his voice and bringing silence to the chamber as he spoke. “You all are _guests_ , so I expect the proper decorum for this major milestone. At least _one_ of you will need to stay behind and sign the license as a witness and if you’re going to take pictures or record this, all I ask is that you get permission from myself _and_ the couple before you post anything. Agreed?”

There was a little murmur of agreement, and Frank noted that both the balloon delivery man and the flower delivery people were staying, holding the gifts and smiling. Part of him wasn’t too surprised: New Yorkers were notoriously sentimental under their tough hides, and everyone liked to be part of a wedding.

“Okay then,” Amos beamed, “Let’s do this.” He cleared his throat and gestured to Frank and Briar Rose to move a little closer to him before he spoke again. 

“Francis and Briar Rose, today you enter as individuals, but you will leave here as husband and wife, blending your lives, expanding your family ties, and embarking upon the grandest adventure of human interaction. The story of your life together is still yours to write. All those present have come to witness and celebrate your love and commitment this day, eager to be a part of the story not yet told.”

Frank felt the sweet tension through his chest in response to Amos’ words, trying to stand still even though a boyish urge to bounce a little was there. Crazy of course; he was too old to bounce but the joy was there.

“Remember to treat yourselves and each other with respect, and remind yourselves often of what brought you together. Take responsibility for making the other feel safe, and give the highest priority to the tenderness, gentleness and kindness that your loving bond _deserves_ ,” Amos rumbled, looking from him to Briar Rose, his expression benevolent. 

“When frustration, difficulty and fear assail your relationship, as they threaten _all_ relationships at some time or another, remember to focus on what is _right_ between you, not just the part that seems wrong. In this way, you can survive the times when clouds drift across the face of the sun in your lives, remembering that, just because you may lose sight of it for a moment, it does not mean the sun has gone away. And, if _each_ of you takes responsibility for the quality of your life together, it will be marked by abundance and delight.”

Someone was quietly crying now; Frank suspected it was either Eddie or Abby. Maybe both, and his own eyes were misting up a bit. He turned his head enough to be able to see both Amos and Briar Rose at the same time. She was blinking hard herself, pale and beautiful.

“All right Francis, this is _it_. Repeat after me: I, Francis Xavier Reagan take you, Briar Rose Althea Thaïs Clowderbock to be my wife, my partner in life and my one true love,” Amos directed him in the quiet chambers.

“I, Francis Xavier Reagan take you, Briar Rose Althea Thaïs Clowderbock to be my wife, my partner in life and my one true love,” Frank repeated, working hard to keep his voice steady.

“I will _cherish_ our union and love you more each day than I did the day before,” Amos intoned, and Frank repeated it.

“I will trust you and respect you, laugh with you and cry with you, loving you faithfully through good times and bad, _regardless_ of the obstacles we may face together.”

“I give you my hand, my heart, _and_ my love, from this day forward for as long as we both shall live.”

Saying it was so easy, so right. Frank focused on Briar Rose, holding her gaze as he repeated the words, and with each part of the vows her cheeks grew pinker. 

“Now it’s _your_ turn, Briar Rose,” Amos told her, leading her phrase by phrase through the same words of commitment. Another surge of unworldly bliss hit Frank hearing her promise them in her slightly trembling voice, her big eyes locked on him. He felt a strange sense of timelessness, of joy and fate all in one. 

“ . . . I give you my hand, my heart, _and_ my love, from this day forward for as long as we both shall live,” Briar Rose finished, gulping a little. 

They stood looking at each other until Amos cleared his throat. “I take it there are rings?” 

Frank fished in his vest pocket, fingers moving to pull out the pocket watch there. He popped the little compartment in the back open and carefully took out the glittering ring, holding it up. 

Someone behind him “oooooh”-ed, and he grinned at that. Briar Rose looked a little stunned at the sparkle of diamond chips in a repeating heart pattern along the wide band. She held out her hand. 

Then she realized it was the wrong one and quickly switched as a soft chuckle went through the chambers. 

“It’s all right; happens to the _best_ of us,” Judge Amos assured her. “All right Francis, as you slip that on her hand, repeat after me: With this ring I thee wed, Briar Rose, and pledge you my love now and forever.” 

“With this ring I thee wed, Briar Rose, and pledge you my love now and forever,” Frank assured her, gently pushing the ring up her slender finger. 

“And now you?” Amos looked at Briar Rose, who was staring at her hand for a moment. She fished into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a velvet box, popping it open and handing it to the senior Reagan at her side as she held out the band to Frank. He blinked hard, eyes wet. 

A platinum band with tiny shamrocks and Celtic knots around the center. 

“With this ring I thee wed, Francis, and I pledge my love to you now and forever,” Briar Rose told him, sliding the cool ring onto his finger. It settled comfortably into the groove waiting for it and as it did, joy flushed through him. Frank knew he was beaming. 

“Now we come to the _good_ part!” Amos boomed. “By the authority vested in me by the grand and glorious state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may _kiss_ your bride, Francis!” 

Briar Rose was already moving, cupping his face and pulling it to hers, lips soft and hot against his own. Frank lost himself in the sweetness, the relief and happiness deepening as he kissed her back. 

_Mine_ , he realized. _A part of me now. A part of HER now._

The noise was deafening as they broke apart and everyone was surging forward to hug him and Briar Rose at the same time. Frank caught sight of Abby wiping her face, of Jamie and Eddie both smiling so hard it looked like it hurt, and of his father, beaming like the sun. 

“Congratulations!” Henry moved to hug them, smiling. “Welcome to the family B-Rose!” 

After teary family hugs and congratulations, Frank found himself facing his staff, all three of whom were grinning, albeit two of them wryly. 

“Frank, I understand the concept of ‘need to know’ but really?” Garrett accused lightly. 

“It’s just the civil service, not the actual _church_ wedding,” Frank tried to defend himself, but Garrett just grinned again, crossing his arms. 

“Oh come on! There isn’t a dry eye in the place and that _includes_ the balloon delivery kid. I’ll cut you some slack since we made it here in time, but you--” Garrett pointed a finger at him, “are on notice, pal.” 

Sid gave him a mock-sorrowful look. “This was so we couldn’t throw you a bachelor party, isn’t it?” 

“What?” Frank looked startled. “No!” 

“Good, because now that’s officially in the works before the church wedding,” Sid announced craftily. “Just so you _know_.” 

“No, _no_ bachelor party!” Frank protested, knowing it wouldn’t do any good since Sid and Garrett were both grinning and moving on to congratulate the bride. He looked at Abby, who shrugged, smiling. 

“Don’t take them seriously; I gave them nearly twenty minutes’ head start here,” she assured him. 

“Thanks,” Frank muttered. “I think.” 

\--oo00oo— 

The one o’clock reservations were at Augustine on Nassau and Beekman; Briar Rose was grateful that it would only be the three of them for lunch. Her nerves were already a little frazzled but the sweet enthusiasm and love from everyone did a lot to help, and sitting in the back seat of the car with Frank she gave him a slightly startled look. 

“You’re my _husband_ ,” she murmured in surprise. 

“According to all the laws, yep,” Frank replied, dimpling at her. “And you’re my _wife_.” 

“Wife,” Briar Rose mouthed the word as if she’d never heard it before. “Wiiiiiife.” 

“Not to be confused with WiFi,” Amos called back from the seat next to the driver. “It takes some getting used to.” 

“Yeah,” Briar Rose agreed. She glanced down at her ring and then back at Frank. “It’s perfect,” she told him. “I’m stunned by how perfect it is.” 

“You have no _idea_ how many quarters I fed into the gumball machine to get it,” he told her with a straight face. “Labor of love there.” 

Briar Rose snorted, bouncing her shoulder against his as the car drove on through the traffic. “Oh yeah? Well _I_ had to undergo a quest to the Singing Mountains with a party of Keebler Elves and Lucky Charm Leprechauns to snag yours out of a dragon’s left ear,” she shot back playfully. 

Frank glanced down at his hand with concern. “You’re telling me you picked this out of a dragon’s _earwax_?” 

“Sounds like true love to _me_ , sir,” the driver volunteered, making them all laugh. 

Just as the Maitre’d got them seated in one of the fancier round booths near the back, Briar Rose felt her cell phone ping. She pulled it out and checked the message, hoping it was congratulations from Lainie or Lucas but the number sent a chill through her as did the message. 

//Harriet Bibbe had heart attack. Ambulance went to NYC Coney Island. Please call us ASAP// 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All credit and thanks goes to The American Marriage Ministries for their lovely civil ceremony script.
> 
> https://theamm.org/wedding-training/ceremony-scripts/civil-wedding-ceremony-scripts#ceremony-0


	6. Chapter 6

It took the better part of an hour, but Briar Rose was grateful that Frank never hesitated, and Judge Howard had waved them out, promising to take a rain check on the lunch. The car drove them out of Manhattan and through Brooklyn down Ocean Parkway to the hospital as she tried to gather her thoughts.

And temper her emotions. 

Frank knew a little about her aunt and the ongoing animosity on Harriet’s side, but he couldn’t possibly understand how difficult it was to try and stay calm. Inside Briar Rose was torn between worry and anger, feeling guilty about feeling mad. _It’s not as if she had a heart attack on purpose,_ she told herself while a second later, _but she **would have** if she’d known it would spoil the day. _

She felt Frank slip an arm around her and lean close. He whispered, “We’re married. She can’t change that, no matter what else happens.” 

It was just what Briar Rose needed to hear; she took a deep breath and nodded. “Thank you.” 

They arrived at NYC Coney Island within the hour, and Briar Rose headed to the admissions desk, Frank in her wake. The nurse there took her questions and sent her in the right direction, which was up three floors to the cardiac wing of the hospital. Briar Rose found herself falling into her work stride and being recognized for it by a few of the personnel she passed. At the nurse’s station, the professional in charge there looked up and nodded when Briar Rose held out her ID. 

“Ondine from downstairs said you were on your way. Doctor Clowderbock?” 

“Clowderbock-Reagan,” Briar Rose corrected, and glanced back at Frank, who gave her a quick smile. “Harriet Bibbee?” 

“She’s stabilized for the moment,” the nurse—Trudy Galloway—replied. “Doctor Phal is handling the case. Let me check if it’s possible for you to see her.” 

It was. Between professional courtesy and family connections Briar Rose found herself moving to the bedside a few minutes later, focusing on the small woman with all the tubes in her arms. Aunt Harriet was dozing but she turned her head towards Briar Rose, blinking blearily. 

“Aunt Harriet,” Briar Rose breathed, reaching a hand out to gently stroke it along the woman’s withered skin along her thin arm. “We came as soon as we could.” 

Aunt Harriet simply stared for a moment longer before giving a breathless little snort. “Why? You don’t care if I live or die any more than I would about you.” 

“That’s not true,” Briar Rose countered, feeling a flush of the old irritation rise again. She tamped it down and leaned against the bed rail. “You’re my _aunt_ ,” she pointed out. 

“That’s what you think,” Aunt Harriet managed a rictus of a smile. 

Startled, Briar Rose hesitated, feeling Frank move closer behind her, sensing his comforting presence there. On the bed, Aunt Harriet peered up at him and her expression soured. “Who’s that?” 

“Ah,” caught off-guard, Briar Rose cleared her throat. “This is Frank, my . . . husband.” 

At that Aunt Harriet began coughing, the noise rattling in the oxygen mask she wore. Briar Rose moved to help her sit up a bit more, adjusting the mask; the beeping of the monitors sped up a little but the old woman managed to catch her breath, peevishly pulling away from her niece’s touch. 

“S-stop. Just . . . stop. No call for you to be here anyway. You’re no kin of mine and never will be, no matter _what_ Daniel paid for you.” 

Briar Rose blinked, her hands still. “I don’t . . .” 

Someone else stepped into the semi-private room. “Doctor Clowderbock?” 

Briar Rose looked over her shoulder at the neat little lab-coated woman with the tablet who was beckoning her out to the hallway. She rose and headed over, aware that Frank was at the food of the bed, looking at her aunt with a steady glare, but didn’t have the heart to chide him. 

“Suzette Phal,” the doctor introduced herself. “I see you’re listed as Mrs. Bibbee’s family.” 

“Yes.” Briar Rose nodded, suddenly not so sure. “How is she?” 

Doctor Phal lowered her voice. “Stable, for the moment, but . . .” 

The news wasn’t good. Not only did the recent damage to her heart require surgical intervention as soon as possible but she also had a slew of medical issues currently complicating matters as well. Part of Briar Rose’s mind focused on the details while another part was simply numb, trying to deal yet again with the animosity. And the bizarre comments she’d made . . . 

“Anyway that’s the plan,” Phal finished quietly. “We’d like to see her a little more stable before we prep her, so at the moment we’re monitoring her blood pressure. I’d suggest you let her rest and we’ll talk more this evening.” 

“Sounds sensible,” Briar Rose agreed, coming back to the here and now. She glanced back into the room, noting that Frank had moved to Aunt Harriet’s side and was speaking to her. Briar Rose hoped it was something reassuring, and cleared her throat before stepping in. 

Both of them looked over at her. Briar Rose managed a smile, knowing it wasn’t a good one. “So . . . the doctors want you to rest. Do you want us—me—to stay?” 

Aunt Harriet lifted a bony hand, waving it. “Don’t care,” she croaked. “Whatever happens is gonna happen whether you’re here or not.” 

Not the most reassuring comment but Briar Rose nodded. She looked at Frank, who straightened up and gave Aunt Harriet a last look. “We’ll be back in the morning,” he murmured and turned away. 

\--oo00oo— 

After Briar Rose’s comments about her only relative, Frank assumed he’d be able to deal with the harridan, but one look at the shrunken figure on the bed and he held his tongue. Partially out of consideration—they were in a hospital—and partially because he wanted to listen. The concern and care in Briar Rose’s voice was clear, as was her frustration. What he _hadn’t_ expected was to hear the contempt in the old woman’s replies. Despite being in pain and confined, Aunt Harriet still had a degree of derision that came through clearly. 

The animosity was real. Whether it was amplified by the situation didn’t matter to Frank; the fact that it existed and was directed at his wife— _his wife_ , he thought with a moment of satisfaction—was enough to make him grimace. When she stepped out with the doctor, he moved closer to the old woman, looking carefully at her. 

“Married her, huh?” Aunt Harriet muttered, looking up at him with bitterness. “Good riddance.” 

“You said you’re not her aunt,” Frank began in a low voice, his tone as neutral as he could get it. “What did you mean by that?” 

Now the rheumy eyes were flickering away from his gaze. “Not your business.” 

“I married her, so it _is_ my business,” Frank shot back lightly. 

Aunt Harriet rolled her head to face him, sneering. “You ain’t blood, city man and I don’t owe you anything. She took your name quick enough I bet.” 

“She kept hers.” It wasn’t a lie; more of a half-truth, but Frank sensed he was on to something. The old woman stirred but that was when Briar Rose cleared her throat and came back into the room. 

As they made their way out of the hospital, Briar Rose began walking faster and faster until Frank moved to hook her arm in his, forcing her to slow down as they made it out the front doors. She turned to him, eyes red. 

“She hates me. Even now she _hates_ me, Frank. What did I ever _do_ to her?” Briar Rose mumbled, wiping a thumb across each cheek. He pulled her close, ignoring people walking around them on the sidewalk, pressing his lips against her forehead. 

“Nothing. Whatever’s wrong with that woman, you didn’t cause it,” he told her as gravely and slowly as he could. Briar Rose’s arms tightened around him for a long moment and she finally sighed, some of her tension gone when she finally released him. 

“When you say it like that I can almost believe it,” she murmured. “Here I am, resentful she’s ruining the best day of my life and I know it’s just coincidence but . . .” 

“That’s _all_ it is,” Frank assured her. “So, a change of plans are in order I suppose.” 

“Just a little,” Briar Rose agreed, lowering her voice. “Damn. We were going to meet up tonight at the Beekman for a brief honeymoon night and I was going to offer up the last virginity I had to you . . .” 

Frank gave a little startled sigh, feeling his face go red. “Ah . . . really?” 

Briar Rose was blushing too, but bright-eyed. “I had . . . hopes. But it’s not something to be rushed, and right now I don’t think either of us could . . . focus, as it were.” 

“Probably not,” he agreed, feeling heat and embarrassment throughout his body. He and his beloved had . . . experimented a little, and talked about it . . . but this . . . Frank took a breath, regretfully putting his mind back on the priorities at hand. “You never cease to surprise me, that’s for sure. All right, so what would you like to do?” 

“ _You_ need to go back to work,” She told him ruefully. “Since I’m on a personal day I’m going to the assisted living center and talk to the staff there, maybe pack a few things for Aunt Harriet. If she stabilizes they’ll want to do surgery by tomorrow morning.” 

He arranged for an officer to take her home before heading back to Manhattan himself, his thoughts bouncing between the old woman’s words and Briar Rose’s tempting offer, feeling frustrated by both of them. All sorts of instincts were responding, and he gave into the detective ones, striding into his office, determined to find out whatever he could about Harriet Bibbee. 

\--oo00oo— 

Herb Antoine gave Briar Rose a commiserating look. “It’s not nice to say this,” he began in a confessional tone, “but honestly, _nobody_ here liked Mrs. Bibbee. I’m sorry but it’s the truth, Doctor Clowderbock. You _know_ how she was. That woman was just _mean_ , through and through.” He shifted uneasily but the doctor nodded at him. 

Herb liked Doctor Clowderbock. He’d seen her come visiting every few months, trying to be cheerful around the bitch in room 217, but it never worked. There was just something about the old lady that stayed sour. The other residents, they had their ups and downs; Herb knew some of it was pain, or memory loss and disease. He could handle their occasional flare-ups with a little gentleness and patience. But Harriet Bibbee only had two moods: bad, or worse. Even Rosa the physical therapist didn’t like her, and Rosa could charm the Devil himself. 

“I know,” Doctor Clowderbock told him. “She’s always been a bit of a rough type. Maybe this health scare will mellow her out a bit.” 

Herb gave a doubtful look but nodded. “Yeah, sometimes that happens.” He led the way to 217, keys jingling. They passed Mr. Epperson’s room; he was watching some soap opera and waved as they walked by. “Heya Gorgeous!” 

They both grinned at that, and Herb waved back. 

“Which one of us did you mean, Mr. Epperson?” he teased. 

“Both of course,” the old man with the thick glasses nodded. “Despite these, I’m not blind!” 

“You know how to make my day, Mr. Epperson!” Herb told him as the woman next to him grinned. They moved on, and she giggled. 

“I love that man.” 

“He’s a sweetheart,” Herb agreed. “Okay, here we are . . .” 

The room was still in disarray from the arrival of the EMTs, with all sorts of medical wrappers and paper on the carpet. Herb stood back as Doctor Clowderbock took it in and reached out for the door frame, gripping it a little. 

“Sorry ma’am but we haven’t had a chance to clean it up,” He apologized, but Doctor Clowderbock shook her head. 

“It’s okay . . . just remembering . . . remembering the last time I saw paramedic litter . . . .” She took a deep breath and glanced at him. “I’m okay. So I’ll just get a few things . . . did she keep her own medication or did you folks dispense that?” 


	7. Chapter 7

Henry looked up as the rattle of a key in the front door took him out of his novel. He glanced to the clock and got up just as Briar Rose came in, looking tired but smiling at him nonetheless.

“What are _you_ doing here?” he asked, a little worried, and then added, “I thought you and Francis were staying in the city tonight to celebrate, Mrs. Clowderbock-Reagan!”

“Didn’t he tell you? My aunt had a heart attack,” Briar Rose replied, slipping out of her coat and hanging it up before petting George. “Instead of lunch with the judge we went to check on her. After _that_ it seemed more prudent to change plans, especially since we’re going back to Sheepshead Bay in the morning.”

“Damn,” Henry sighed, coming over to her and giving Briar Rose a quick hug. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is she okay?”

“She’s . . .” Briar Rose gave a shrug. “And I don’t know if Frank told you, but my aunt . . . doesn’t _like_ me.”

“He mentioned it,” Henry admitted, remembering the first discussion after he’d met Briar Rose, specifically asking about the bruise on her leg. The idea that a family member had done it to her never did sit well with Henry. “Dementia?”

“No, she’s always been like that,” Briar Rose said, moving through the house to the kitchen. “My parents used to keep her in check when I was a kid, but now that’s it’s just the two of us . . . Did you have a dinner plan?”

Henry gave a sheepish grin. “I was gonna order some Chinese food and save myself some cooking.”

“Sounds good to me!” Briar Rose enthused. “Egg rolls would be perfect.”

They ordered and settled back in the living room where Briar Rose cuddled George. Henry set aside his novel and watched her for a moment. “So I guess Frank will be coming home too?”

“Yep,” Briar Rose replied. “I cancelled the hotel reservation. Ah well.”

“No,” Henry told her mock-sternly. “Once this is over, you need to re-book it. You and Frank deserve time with each other and that’s a fact. Gotta make _sure_ of that, the both of you.”

Briar Rose nodded. “So they say. Did you and Betty have date nights?”

Henry’s lips twitched. “We didn’t call ‘em that in my day, but she and I had . . . routines. You know she was the one who started Sunday dinner tradition, right?”

Briar Rose nodded.

Henry leaned forward, smiling. “Well the _other_ tradition she started was Saturday night bath. Francis can vouch that his mother was strict about getting him into the tub and to bed pretty quick after. After that . . . it was bath night for the two of _us_.”

He knew he didn’t have to say more; Briar Rose was grinning and blushing at the same time. “Oh really?”

“Really. You know how life is. Gotta take what time you can with the people who matter. And if it involves hot water and a woman you love, can’t beat it. I’m not just talking about . . . _you_ know,” he waved a hand, feeling his own face get a little pink. “But the intimacy. Having a chance to talk, and share, and get to the heart of it all. It’s not like when the two of you are out in public, going to dinner, or together doing things in the house and yard. Nah, having time to unwind and really _listen_. Really be heard. That’s . . . vital, especially with two full—time careers.”

Briar Rose reached over and took his hand, squeezing it. “You really are amazing, Henry Reagan.”

He gave a deprecating shrug, but smiled all the same. “I’ve just lived a long time. Every couple figures things out their way. So this aunt of yours . . . mother’s side, or father’s?”

“Aunt Harriet is my mother’s younger sister,” Briar Rose replied. “She managed the bank back in Cherry Hollow for years; worked her way up from cashier to do it, too.”

“Career woman,” Henry murmured. “Doesn’t sound like she was the type for customer service though.”

Briar Rose laughed, a little bitterly, he noted. “No, not really. She could set up all sorts of financial deals and loans but had no patience for small talk. And in a little place like Cherry Hollow, it’s all about small talk—who’s gambling and who’s had a bad year for crops or in sales. But she managed.”

“Your mother’s only family?” Henry asked, as his personal curiosity warred with something a little more professional.

“Yeah,” came the reply. “Aunt Harriet was younger than my mom, Charlotte, by about three years. From the family stories, they both had a crush on my dad back in high school but he chose my mom. Sometimes I think my aunt’s still annoyed about that.”

“It happens,” Henry agreed, feeling a little _‘aha’_ pulse in his thoughts. Family animosity always had roots somewhere and this sounded about right. But he didn’t want to make Briar Rose uncomfortable, so he shifted the topic. “How’d she end up out here? I mean, I know you left because of college and work . . .”

“About ten years ago she had a bad fall,” Briar Rose began, but the doorbell rang and George gave a ‘whuff’ of alert. Henry got up, fishing for his wallet; on the doorstep the teenager with two big bags of white cartons grinned at him.

“Good to see you again, Mr. Reagan!” the boy with the _Yang’s Best_ baseball cap told him. “More than your usual order tonight, huh?”

“Hey Ramon,” Henry nodded, taking the bags. “Yeah. How much do I owe you this time?”

“Twenty-eight fifty. Usual bet?”

“You’re on,” Henry told him with a nod. 

Ramon got out his cell phone, held it out so he and Henry were in the frame and spoke up. “Okay, sir--what year was the New York Sheriff’s Office created?”

Henry shook his head. “That’s an easy one. Sixteen twenty-six, selected from elected officials in the colony. You gotta find tougher trivia. That’s nine for nine by my count, boyo. Sure you want to keep losing your tip money this way?”

“Skunked again! You heard it here from the man himself! Ramon out,” he told the phone with a big grin and clicked it off.

Henry smiled. “I always feel bad when you do that.”

Ramon’s teeth flashed again. “Nah they see me lose to you, but I have a side bet goin’ with three other people in my CJ class, so I make it back good, and we all get the right answer for class. It’s _muy justo_ , sir.”

“It’s a racket,” Henry chuckled, “but for a good cause.”

Briar Rose took one of the bags, laughing herself. “What was _that_ all about?”

Henry followed her to the kitchen. “Ramon’s enrolled at that Urban School for Criminal Justice. First time he delivered here he knew who I was so he asked me a question from his class. We’ve been doing it every delivery since. He records it so his buddies know it’s really me. Kind of flattering.”

“Is it really a bet for his tip?” Briar Rose wanted to know.

“It was at first, but . . .” Henry trailed off. “Hell, he’s got books and gas to pay for and _I_ know delivery isn’t the best paying job in the world . . .”

“You tip him _anyway_ ,” Briar Rose nodded.

“Shhhh, you’ll ruin my reputation as a hardass,” Henry warned her. “What happens in Bay Ridge--”

She tapped the side of her nose, giggling.

\--oo00oo—

She was already in bed by the time he made it home, so after a quick solitary dinner of leftovers, Frank moved quietly through the bedroom, slipping in beside her, doing his best not to wake Briar Rose. Stretching out felt good, and he let himself relax layer by layer. She made a little pleased sound and rolled towards him, draping herself with easy familiarity against his shoulder. For once her hands were warm and Frank appreciated that.

After getting back from the hospital he’d pulled Abby aside and asked her to run a check on Harriet Bibbee before plunging himself back into the annual budget, patiently sifting through reports, emails and projections for the rest of the afternoon. Frank wasn’t fond of the accounting part of his job; he understood it was important and needed to be done accurately and transparently, but the underlying politics and in-fighting that centered on those numbers was enough to drive a sane man mad at times. Money made the city run; funding made government work; budgets made sure everyone got what they needed . . . eventually. 

He’d been glad when Abby’s results popped up four hours later, giving him a chance to take a break from spreadsheets. Frank had scrolled through it, trying to see how what was there overlaid on the woman he’d seen at the hospital. High school, secretarial college, bank career. No arrests. Married, and then widowed within two years.

Frank had noted that Harriet had a good line of credit, and seemed to be a creature of habit, going to Florida every winter for thirty years or so. He also saw that she’d moved from Cherry Hollow only within the last ten years, which fit with what Briar Rose had told him about her fall and the need for assisted living care. All fairly routine—the information could have fit the profile of thousands of elderly women.

Nothing out of the ordinary that he could see, and yet, Frank had felt there was _something_ under the surface. He’d closed the report and headed home, feeling frustrated by a concern he couldn’t quite name.

Next to him, Briar Rose sighed. “Relax, sweetheart. You’re tense.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Reagan-Clowderbock,” he whispered back. “Long day. Middle of it was pretty nice, though.”

She giggled against his shoulder. “Agreed.”

“So,” Frank murmured, rolling to face her. “How long were you going to try and _keep_ it from me?”

In the darkness he felt her flinch. “Keep _what_ from you?”

“The fact that you’re . . . a brat,” Frank snickered, slipping a hand around her hip to pull her closer to him.

“Shoot me now,” Briar Rose sighed. “Honestly, my parents were wonderful people but I don’t think either one of them gave a thought to how those names were going to line up. Briar Rose is hard enough as it is.”

“Brat,” Frank repeated thoughtfully, nuzzling the hollow between her collarbones. “brrrrraaaattttt. No, I think they knew _exactly_ what they were doing, come to think of it. You’re definitely—"

He didn’t get to finish; on her nightstand Briar Rose’s phone rang. She apologetically rolled away to pick it up. “It’s the hospital,” she told him, tensing up.

Frank propped himself up on an elbow, listening quietly to her side of the conversation.

“Oh. I see. Yes, yes. No I’m sure you did all you could. Yes. Yes, in the morning. No, I don’t think she had a directive. I understand. Yes. Thank you.”

He watched her hit the button to hang up, and pulled her into his arms after she set the phone down with a sob. Without a word Frank held her soothingly, feeling his wife’s hot tears against his shoulder, cradling her, comforting her until they both fell into the sleep of the exhausted.


	8. Chapter 8

She didn’t think she could have gotten through it without her family. Frank of course, but throughout the next few weeks all the Reagans were there for her. Sean took charge of George, making sure he was walked and fed and groomed. Henry fielded calls and took messages; Erin and Nicky texted her about drinking water and getting rest, and Danny even found time to bring over a few dinners.

Kindest of all, Jamie and Eddie spent their lunch hour going with her to pick up her aunt’s cremated remains from English Brothers Funeral Home, the two of them flanking her supportively. Briar Rose appreciated it, and took them for burgers afterwards so they’d at least have something to eat. They walked into Wonder Burger a few blocks away, ordered and took lunch out to the little patio that sat in front of the parking lot. The day was breezy and cool; not many people were outside.

“Thank you,” she murmured, looking from one to the other. “You really didn’t _have_ to do this.”

“It’s important,” Jamie reminded her. “This isn’t a casual sort of errand, B-Rose. Nobody should be _alone_ for something like this.”

Eddie nodded. “It’s . . . what family is _for_.”

Briar Rose sighed, trying not to tear up. “I know. I know and I’m blessed. Reagans are pretty amazing.”

“We try,” Jamie assured her with his easy smile. “Not that we always succeed.”

They ate, chatting of simple things, and it was only towards the end of the lunch that Briar Rose remembered what else she’d wanted to mention. Casually she set her milkshake down and looked at them. “Hey, now that I have you here, away from everyone else . . . I have something to talk to you about.”

Eddie looked curious, but Briar Rose saw a hint in Jamie’s gaze that told her he already suspected. She took a breath. “It’s about . . . renting my house.”

“Renting . . ?” Eddie echoed.

Jamie cocked his head. “Your house. The Dyker Heights place?”

“Yes,” Briar Rose went on carefully. “Now that I’m officially living over at the Bay Ridge Reagan compound--”

Just as she’d intended, both of them snickered at that. “It means my old place is standing empty and I’m sure you’ll both agree that’s not good.”

“Empty houses are what’s called ‘an attractive nuisance,” Eddie nodded. “Susceptible to everything from vandalism to squatting or worse, yeah.” 

“Not that it would end up a shooting gallery or a crack joint,” Jaime admitted. “Dyker Heights is a little too upscale for that to happen.” 

“True,” Briar Rose agreed. “Lainie would be the first to head over with a baseball bat. She’s serious about property values. But still . . . I wanted to know if you two wanted to rent it. I know it’s kind of close, and it would mean a little longer commute, and I _totally_ understand if you want to pass,” she added. “No hurt feelings on my part; I get it. But I did want to make the offer since it’s a good house in a good location and I have to figure out what to do with it.”

Jamie looked thoughtful, and Briar Rose grinned at him. “You _knew_ I was going to do this, didn’t you?”

“Not exactly,” he hedged. “But I had suspicions.”

“You never _told_ me!” Eddie protested, giving his shoulder a tiny shove with hers.

He sighed. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up if B-Rose _didn’t_ make an offer. And yeah, it’s a good house with a lot of plusses but there are some other factors too that need . . . discussing.”

She watched as the newlyweds exchanged a long look full of unspoken words; a verbal shorthand in love and hope.

“Yeah,” Eddie murmured, sounding thoughtful herself. “Uh, can we get back to you on this?”

“Absolutely,” Briar Rose agreed. “Right now it’s not a priority but I need to make a decision within the next six months or so. Only Erin knows I was going to offer it to you—I figured you two didn’t need any pressure from the family. Oh, and if you’re wondering why I’m talking about renting it to you instead of just _selling_ it . . .”

“I _was_ curious about that,” Jamie admitted. “Why?”

“Because if I’m the landlord, I can take care of the repairs and upgrades for the tax deduction while my renters can help make decisions about the makeovers,” she smiled. “See, the wives of two major contractors are currently patients of mine . . . and they’ve both expressed that they would be delighted to provide services at a substantial discount . . .”

Jamie laughed. “Dad _said_ you were a haggler!”

“I am, but it’s for the greater good,” Briar Rose assured him. “And if you guys decide to pass on the house, check around and see if anyone you work with is interested in renting the house, would you? If I can’t keep it in the Reagan family I can at least keep it in the _professional_ family.”

\--oo00oo—

The old Samsonite suitcase was full of folders, and Briar Rose began to sort them into piles on the desk, sighing. At least her aunt had been organized; most of them were labeled in crabbed handwriting: _Bank Statements; Warranties; Utilities_ . . . the paperwork of a lifetime, neatly sorted. There were small velvet bags as well, and a few photograph albums too, along with what looked like a family bible wrapped in a cotton pillowcase.

“Need help?” Frank leaned in the doorway of the attic, looking over the top of his glasses at her. 

It touched Briar Rose how respectful he was of this sanctuary, always waiting to be invited, lingering outside until she waved him in, which she did now. “Hey sweetie. Just looking through some of Aunt Harriet’s things to see if she had instructions or a will.”

Frank lumbered in, Saturday comfortable in his pullover and khakis. He peered at the folders on the desk. “Thorough. I bet you find one pretty quick,” he commented. 

“Yeah. So let’s see . . .” Flipping through the bottom stacks of files she pulled one out that had _In the event_ written on it. “This looks important.”

He set his mug of coffee down and looked over her shoulder as Briar Rose flipped the faded manila folder open. The typed page was yellow, but the all capital title of WILL & TESTAMENT on the top stood out clearly, and she gave a satisfied nod. “Bingo. Shall we see what the woman has to say?”

“Might as well,” Frank agreed.

Rose skimmed the document. “Sound mind, names my dad as executor and should he die, then me, “With great reluctance” Thanks Aunt Harriet. Property in Cherry Hollow, yeah. Her house and the acreage around it . . . and the property in Florida? I didn’t realize she owned anything in Florida. I thought she just vacationed there,” Briar Rose murmured in surprise. “News to me.”

“Investment property,” Frank speculated. “Maybe it was something earning income. She was a banker after all.”

Briar Rose nodded. “True. Well I know about the Cherry Hollow land and I can put it on the market easily enough. Mariette Simpkins runs the real estate office in town and would get us the best deal on it. The two houses . . . they’re both falling apart, especially after the last few winters Might be better to bulldoze them and re-zone.”

“Are you sure?” Frank asked her softly, and she reached over her shoulder to pat his cheek.

“If you think they’re sturdy farmhouses, think again. They’re a small pair of prefabricated houses out of the Sears Catalog of nineteen twenty-three, and neither of them is up to code on anything. I’m pretty sure there’s asbestos in one of them if not both. I’m sentimental but they’re _not_ worth keeping, sweetheart.”

Frank nodded. He pulled a chair over and waved at the other folders. “What about this stuff?”

“The utilities and bank statements can go—well all but the topmost ones anyway, and those will be ten years old as it is.”

“What’s in the bags?”

Briar Rose pulled one of the velvet bags over and tugged the drawstring open, tipping it onto the desk top. A pair of heavy cuff links tumbled out: gold, with mother of pearl buttons topped with diamonds. 

“My Uncle Baylor’s most likely,” she sighed. “He passed away when I was two.”

Frank studied them. “Nice work,” he murmured.

“Take them. I know you’ve got a few French cuff shirts,” Briar Rose nodded. She picked up another bag and opened it, fishing out a strand of lustrous pearls. “Oooh, these were Granny’s. And there’s . . .” she dug deeper, pulling out matching pearl drop earrings. “Well _I’m_ set for the next gala.”

Frank pulled out the pillowcase and after her encouraging nod, slid the Bible out, his big hand stroking the leather cover reverently. “Looks old.”

“Yes.” Briar Rose reached to open the cover. As she did so, two pieces of paper fluttered out. She caught one but the other slipped past her to the floor where Frank retrieved it.

The one in her hand was a letter, dated the year she was born, Briar Rose noted absently, and it was addressed to her father. “Dear Daniel,” she read aloud slowly, “Please accept this note a receipt for your check. The other party has released all claims and concerns for the infant now in your care. I am applying for the amended certificate within the week and it should arrive shortly after that. Congratulations on your new . . . daughter, Hiram J. Atkinson, Attorney at law . . .”

A chill rushed over her and she gripped the edge of the desk, trying to make sense of what she’d just read. “What?” Briar Rose mumbled dizzily. _“What?”_

Frank slid an arm around her shoulders, and the warm weight of it helped. She looked at him, trying to focus on his grave expression. He set the other paper down on the desk. “Briar Rose . . .”

Her glance took it in. A faded birth certificate from Raleigh Country West Virginia with her birth date on it, but with unfamiliar details. No listed name, just _‘female, single birth’_ at the top. _‘Hester Stein’_ on the maternal line, on the other, _‘unknown’_ . . .

Briar Rose gave a hard chuff, feeling as if someone had punched her in the stomach.

“That’s me,” Briar Rose croaked dizzily. “She . . . she was right. She wasn’t my aunt. God! My parents . . .”

“Sweetheart,” Frank tightened his arm around her.

“I was _bought_ ,” it fell from numb lips. “I was bought and _paid_ for! Oh shit,” Briar Rose moaned. “And she _financed_ it! Frank, that’s how she knew. Aunt—Harriet—she arranged the money for my dad. For my parents!”

Frank said nothing. He pulled her into his lap, holding her tightly. Briar Rose clung to him fiercely for a long, long time.

She wasn’t sure if she cried, but Briar Rose knew she shook, and that the only things keeping her warm were her husband’s arms around her. Memories flew through her mind at light-speed as strange comments and odd little moments suddenly took on significance and meaning. Things were coming into focus.

“Odd blood type,” she murmured. “Being blonde. Being tall. It . . . makes sense. I’m adopted. I never _was_ a Clowderbock.”

“Yes you _are_ ,” Frank interrupted her, catching her gaze. “Maybe your genetics are different but your parents _wanted_ you. They loved you and raised you in a home where you _knew_ you were loved every minute. I hear it in your family stories and the way you talk about them. They. _Loved._ You.” Just like I do.”

Briar Rose stared into his hazel eyes, feeling a strange and sweet sense of peace steal over her. She took a shuddery breath, aware that she was putting off the tears, but strong for the moment. Somehow she managed a smile. “Just like _you_ do,” she murmured. “God Frank, I really don’t know if I can _take_ any more surprises. I need to go for a run. Just to settle myself.”

She pushed herself away from the table and his embrace, giving him a small smile as he stared worriedly at her. “I’ll be fine. I just need some _time_ to process . . .” Briar Rose waved at the desk. “You know.”

Frank nodded, reluctantly. “Take George,” he murmured, and she nodded.


	9. Chapter 9

By the end of the week she seemed more like her old self, but Frank kept an eye on his wife. He was no stranger to shock; to the insidious nature of cracks to one’s identity that did harm both seen and unseen. Briar Rose was a strong woman, but three major life events so close together were enough to rattle anyone. So he stayed watchful.

She wanted to tell the family. “No more secrets,” Briar Rose insisted. “This one has been kept from me my _whole_ life and I’m tired of the deceit. We’ll do it over dinner and just . . . put it out there.”

Frank agreed. That Sunday they settled in and after grace, he cleared his throat, pulling everyone’s attention his way. “Your Rose-kin has something to share with you.”

He liked the diminutive; they’d all discussed it months earlier, with Briar Rose as adamant she _wouldn’t_ take Mary Margaret’s title. “You had ONE beautiful mother and grandmother,” she’d insisted. “I’m your father and grandfather’s wife, but I need to be called something else; something besides ‘stepmother’ which I dislike for more than fairy tale reasons.”

It had been Jack who’d come up with it, pointing out that ‘kin’ was very West Virginian and kind of endearing. Danny had paired it up with part of her name, and they’d all agreed that Briar Rose was now their Rose-kin, much to her amusement and delight.

At the end of the table, Briar Rose took a breath. “I found out earlier this week that I’m—I was—adopted.”

Nobody spoke for a long moment, and she added, “My parents never told me. I found the paperwork in my aunt’s things, and it’s taking me a while to get used to the idea, but I wanted you all to know.”

“You gonna be okay?” Henry asked her gently, laying a supportive hand on her arm.

“Yeah,” she smiled at him, passing the rolls his way.

“Adopted?” Nicky spoke up, clearly concerned. “And you’re just finding out _now_?”

Briar Rose nodded. “It kind of explains a few things I’ve always wondered about.”

“I bet,” Erin agreed empathetically. “Wow. That’s a heck of a revelation.”

“That’s . . . cruel,” Jamie murmured. “To find out on your own, I mean. With nobody left to ask about it. I’m sorry it happened to you that way, B-Rose.”

“Is that why . . .” Sean began, and went red when everyone looked at him expectantly. Briar Rose gave him an encouraging nod and he finished, “Your aunt was so _mean_ to you?”

“Yes,” Briar Rose admitted with a sigh. “I’m pretty sure that was one of the leading reasons. My parents must have made her promise never to tell me about myself, and even though she could have once they’d died she didn’t. Twisted sense of honor I guess. And it didn’t help that after my Uncle Braydon died she never re-married and didn’t have a family of her own. Led to a lot of bitterness in the end.”

“Which makes all of _us_ very blessed,” Erin pointed out quietly as she sipped her wine. “I mean we’re not perfect and we don’t agree on everything but--”

“—but we have each _other_ ,” Danny finished for his sister, looking thoughtful. “I guess we Reagans kinda take that for granted, huh?” 

“I don’t think so,” Frank murmured. “I’m aware of how lucky we are each and every day. _More_ so on Sundays.”

“Hear, hear,” Henry said. “We’re family in all the best ways.”

Later that evening he and Briar Rose took George for a walk, and she leaned on his arm. “Thank you.”

“Thank _you_ ,” he returned, feeling lighter himself. Frank knew the family would be supportive, but watching it unfold helped a great deal and he knew it buoyed Briar Rose to know she was loved. Lord knew they’d all helped him through a number of crises and problems.

She sighed. “So it looks like I’m going to have to take some time off to deal with the properties both in West Virginia and Florida. Want to take a working honeymoon with me to exotic places with deer ticks and mosquitoes?”

“Well when you put it like that,” Frank murmured. “Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever _seen_ a tick.”

“Flat brown and shiny,” Briar Rose told him. “I’ll have to check your naked body very closely every night to make sure you don’t have any.”

“I could be persuaded,” Frank agreed, trying not to grin.

“Mmm-hmmm,” she shot him a dry look. “It’s highly unlikely, but best to make sure, right?”

“Absolutely.”

*** *** ***

It took work particularly in shifting a few meetings, but Frank had more than enough accumulated leave, and patience to let his team iron out the logistics among themselves. They were good at their jobs, and he knew they’d get everything covered and done while he was gone. Lord knew they’d done it before, and under much more stressful situations—like when he’d been shot.

Briar Rose managed to get a leave as well, and worked her haggling magic to get them accommodations and tickets under budget, so that within six days they were driving away from the Charlottesville airport and down highway 81. It took a while for Frank to get used to so much countryside on either side of the road, and some of the names amused him, like Clinkum Hollow and Spradlin Addition.

“So where did you and Mary Margaret honeymoon?” Briar Rose wanted to know a few hours later. She was in the passenger seat, magazine in her lap, looking more relaxed than she had in days, and Frank approved of it.

“Niagra Falls,” Frank told her, smiling briefly. “We took the Maid of the Mist boat tour and got soaked despite the free raincoats. I’m pretty sure there are a few snapshots in the family albums somewhere.”

“Traditional honeymoon,” Briar Rose smirked back. “Ooooh!”

“Traditional,” he agreed. “The Holiday Inn we stayed at was nice.”

“Holiday Inn,” Briar Rose marveled, batting her eyes at him. “As fancy as all _that_!”

“Forty plus years ago it actually was,” Frank pointed out. “Ice machines, air conditioning, and I think they’d just gotten color television, not that we spent any time watching it.”

That made her laugh, which was good to hear. “Why am I not surprised at that? You’re still _very_ . . .” Briar Rose trailed off, but Frank refused to rise to the bait.

He pointed with his chin to the road ahead. “I think the turn off is just ahead.”

“Very,” Briar Rose repeated but she dutifully checked the GPS. “Yes, exit eleven, that should get us into town within ninety minutes or so. If Barney’s is still there I’ll treat you to lunch, West Virginia style. And I’m warning you now Frank: yes my accent _will_ get thicker. I can’t help it,” she warned him. “You know how it is when you’re around people with the same roots, speech-wise.”

“I will do my best not to snicker,” he told her cheerfully. “No promises.”

They reached Cherry Hollow shortly and Frank drove down the main road, noting the number of closed businesses and general lack of traffic. Briar Rose was pointing out familiar places and giving brief back stories. “That used to be Susie Taylor’s dress shop; I see the tire store’s still around; ooh, we’re in luck, Barney’s is here!”

He pulled into the parking lot and they got out, stretching. Out of habit Frank looked around with a professional eye, not sure he liked what he saw. The town didn’t look just run-down, it looked as if it had been dying by inches for a decade, but he said nothing and followed Briar Rose into the diner, noting the exits and other three patrons, all elderly.

They found an empty booth with cracked leather seats mended with duct tape and Frank was discomfited to find the sag of the upholstery left his ass in a well worn hollow. Briar Rose didn’t seem to have that issue, or if she did, she didn’t care. She smiled, looking around. “Barney’s . . . I used to come here after school for a Sarsaparilla while I did my home work.”

“Sarsaparilla? That’s a _real_ drink?” Frank murmured as a plump elderly waitress hobbled over, her crepey eyelids a bright blue.

“Folks, what kin I do you for? New in town?” she chirped, giving them a toothy denture smile as she passed out ragged laminated menus.

Briar Rose looked at her and brightened. “Corrie? Corrie Peltner? Jacie’s big sister?”

The woman looked startled and nodded, staring back. “Sure ‘nough. How do you know that?”

“It’s me, Briar Rose!” Briar Rose waved at herself. Frank watched the waitress’ expression bloom into a genuine smile as she beamed.

“Oh Lordy me! Briar Rose Clowderbock! It’s been ages, girl! What are you doing in town?”

He waited patiently through their discussion of Harriet’s death and a quick rundown of mutual acquaintances, studying the menu and debating on roast beef sandwich or the meat loaf. Frank noted with amusement there were no salads listed at all, and three kinds of macaroni sides; clearly Cherry Hollow was a meat and potatoes sort of place and he approved.

“Gracious listen to me run on,” Corrie finally admitted nearly ten minutes later. “Y’all need lunch! I’ll give you a minute or three to look things over. Briar Rose, so good to see you, be back right quick!”

He glanced at Briar Rose, who picked up her menu, smiling. “I see you two know each other.”

“She was a couple of grades up from me,” Briar Rose told him as she scanned the listed food. “Always liked her. Oh! I didn’t even introduce you!”

“It’s all right,” Frank nodded. “I’m sure she’ll figure out who I am.”

“Umm-hmm,” Briar Rose set the menu flat again. “Grilled cheese I guess. Not many healthy options here, huh?”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Frank lied sweetly. “Should I get a Sarsaparilla?”

“You should,” Briar Rose agreed. “It’s a known aphrodisiac.”

He had to hide his grin when Corrie returned to take their order.

***

The Sleepy Inn off Highway 20 was still there, looking a little worn down. When she and Frank walked into their room, Briar Rose gave a shake of her head.

“I’m not even sure that IS a color tv,” she pointed out.

Frank rolled the suitcases in and parked them in the closet before giving the room a scan. “As long as the mattress isn’t as saggy as the booth at Barney’s I’ll be happy.”

Briar Rose took a few steps and threw herself on the bed, bouncing lightly before rolling over. “Nope, seems to be in good shape.”

“We’ll have to put it to a more vigorous test later,” Frank purred.

“True,” she agreed. “First though, it’s time to check in with Mariette at the real estate office and then stop in at the bank to see about Harriet’s safety deposit box.”

“Not _Aunt_ Harriet?” Frank questioned.

Briar Rose shook her head. “Nope. I never have to call her that again, thank God. It’s such a shame that she was the only relative of mine you ever met. I wish you’d known my mother and father. They’d have loved you, you know.”

He came over and dropped onto the mattress beside her, making her bounce again. “I wish I’d known them too. They’re here, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, up at Hill Repose,” she murmured. “Before we leave town we’ll put some flowers down for them.”


	10. Chapter 10

_Some gals have all the luck,_ Marietta Simpkins thought to herself. She glanced from the paperwork she and Briar Rose were going over and looked again at the man with them, mentally sighing. Tall. Broad. Looked like he could wrestle a bear or chop down a Douglas fir without trouble. How the everlovin’ _hell_ a skinny bookworm like Briar Rose Clowderbock had managed to land something so studly up in a big city was hard to imagine. Marietta had heard New York City was full of pushy politicians and crazy cab drivers and loud eye-talians . . . and this fellah sure wasn’t anything like them.

“ . . . Buck Dalton still interested?” Briar Rose murmured, and Marietta came back to the moment at hand. She shrugged.

“Buck talks big but I’m not so sure he’s got the capital. My suggestion is you get the houses demolished and cleared. After that we can rezone and then you’ll get both commercial and private investors interested in it. I know of two companies who kin get the removals done for pretty reasonable fees.”

Leaning closer she added, “If you go commercial, keep in mind how close both places are to the highway. We could _use_ a Starbucks ‘round here.”

Briar Rose chuckled. Her husband— _what was his name again? Frank?_ \-- didn’t, but Marietta took that as a challenge. She’d make him smile before he left her office, yes she would. Had to be _something_ that’d make that mustache move. She pointed to the spaces for signatures. “So if I kin get your chicken scratches rat here . . .”

“Sure ‘nough,” Briar Rose agreed and at _that_ he grinned. He tried to hide it, but Marietta saw dimples and it sent another little pang of envy through her.

Fucking dimples.

_Damn it all—I need to get outta Cherry Hollow and get ME something like this one._

“So . . . you and the big ol’ hubby want to drive out just to make sure there’s nothing you want from either place?” Marietta offered. “We could take m’truck, save you some mileage on your rental.”

She watched Briar Rose glance over at her hunk. “Wouldn’t take too much time.”

“Sure,” he replied, and Marietta knew it was a done deal.

She took them up Promise Road to Harriet’s old place first, led them up the porch to the door, trying to work the key but the damned lock had rusted. Marietta fought with it until the hubby cleared his throat. She let him and another little pang went through her as he twisted the key without even trying, making the lock screech as it gave way.

The house stank. Mildew of course, and dust and wet wood. Even though the ratty furniture was covered with plastic tarps from Costco they hadn’t done much to protect anything. “Duck; there are a lotta cobs up overhead,” she warned them both as they all filed in.

“Yeah, this needs all to come down,” Briar Rose announced. “Pronto.”

Marietta agreed, itching for a cigarette. “Don’t think a big fellah like you ought to risk them stairs,” she told Frank. “Just sayin.”

“I’ll just run up,” Briar Rose told him and just like that Marietta was alone with him as they heard her overhead.

“So . . . anymore like _you_ at home?” Marietta asked, smiling but half-serious because if the answer was ‘yes’ she might just book a flight.

“Limited edition,” he replied lightly, squatting down to look at the fireplace.

Oh his ass was nice.

“That’s a damned shame,” slipped out before she could stop it, and Marietta coughed a little to hide her embarrassment.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Uh, something’s alive in the fireplace,” he told her quietly. “It’s hissing and I don’t _think_ it’s a cat.”

Marietta glanced down and winced. “Shiiiit. Soooo . . . back up slowly there, okay?” She herself moved to the stairs and called up. “Briar Rose, hon, we got a itty bitty skunk situation down here . . .”

“Crap.” A few seconds later Briar Rose was tiptoeing down, joining them where they were backed up at the front door. “I thought there was something more than just mildew.”

“Yeah.” Marietta noticed she was holding a hand mirror, black with tarnish. “That all you want?”

“All I want. Don’t bother locking it up,” Briar Rose told her as they quietly went down the rickety porch steps.

The old Clowderbock place was in a little better shape, but Marietta could see that part of the roof had big holes, and one of the porch posts had cracked, making the porch roof sag. The lock was easier and there was more light, probably because one of the living room windows was broken under where it had been boarded up.

“Going to be okay?” Marietta heard Frank ask Briar Rose in a soft voice.

“Yeah. You know what they say—you can’t go home again,” she replied.

Marietta had to agree with that. She sent Arnold around regular to check on the listings but time and weather wore down everything eventually. “So I know this place is sentimental but hon, you’d have to pour buckets of money into this one just to get it anywhere _near_ livable,” she told Briar Rose sympathetically.

“Yeah and it’s not as if I _have_ buckets,” Briar Rose agreed. She was blinking a lot and Marietta knew it wasn’t just from the dust. 

Marietta wandered into the kitchen to give them some privacy, busying herself with looking at the cupboards, listening to the creak of the floorboards as Briar Rose and her hubby circled the living room.

“God, it’s so small. I don’t remember it being this _small_ ,” she heard Briar Rose murmur.

“You got taller.”

“And it’s . . . just empty. Like a shell after the snail has died,” Marietta heard her say. “Only the case for what used to be here . . .”

And then the sniffling. Marietta knew that meant the woman was crying now and fished in her pocket for the little pack of tissues she always carried. She waited a breath or two before coming out of the kitchen.

Hubby was racking up the points because he was wrapped around her, big hand going up her back in soothing strokes, all cuddly-like, strong and romantic while he did it.

Shit.

Marietta held out the tissues, wondering if she had fresh batteries in her vibrator back home.

\--oo00oo—

She’d tried to hold it together but seeing how small the place actually was, remembering what it was like with furniture and paintings and curtains brought on the tears. Briar Rose sighed. She’d done more crying in the last few weeks than she’d done in years but at the same time it felt right because there was a lot to mourn.

They were just closing up the storage unit at the far end of town and thinking about dinner—at least she was. Briar Rose had forgotten how crying always made her hungry. Frank was brushing his hands on his jeans, looking around into the twilight in that way he did when he was somewhere unfamiliar. She didn’t know if it was instinctive, or whether he was in police mode when he did that; it was hard to tell sometimes.

“Feel like getting a pizza?” Briar Rose suggested as she snapped the lock back through the hasp.

“Do they _have_ pizza out here?” Frank teased, turning to catch her gaze.

“Funny,” she snorted at him. “But . . . I’m not sure. We can check online I guess. What are you looking for?”

“Civilization,” Frank murmured, his mouth twisting up. “It’s not quiet, but the noises are a different sort. A lot less traffic, a lot more rustling and crackling.”

“Country,” Briar Rose sighed. “Looks to be a full moon tonight. We can go out later and check out the constellations.”

Which they did. Round Table delivered, and once dinner arrived Briar Rose carried the box out to the recessed little balcony at the back of the hotel room which faced a dark expanse of tall woods. Crickets were in full chorus, and the damp cool scent of moss and pine hung in the evening air. Briar Rose breathed it in gratefully. “Nice.”

Frank made a little murmur of agreement, coming to stand with her at the railing after they ate. “It is, in a remote sort of way.”

“Sometimes I miss it,” she confessed. “The solitude. Not always; I love New York with all its skyscrapers and bustle and bus exhaust. But getting away once in a while has its appeal too.”

“I get that,” Frank told her as he gazed into the dark woods. “Time away from the familiar can help a person appreciate what they have.”

She looked up. “Check out that night sky. Couldn’t see that much even out in Bay Ridge.”

He tipped his head up and Rose studied his profile in the silvery moonlight, feeling a rush of love for the man next to her, for his quiet strengths both emotional and physical. She sidled closer. “So . . . how many passes did Marietta make your way?”

Frank shot her an embarrassed sidelong glance. “One . . . I think.”

Briar Rose chuckled, running a hand down Frank’s back to his ass, squeezing it possessively. “You sure? Because that woman kept looking at you like you were a double decked banana split with extra sprinkles, Handsome. Thought I was gonna have to get a broom and beat her down.”

The look he gave her was priceless; half astonishment, half speculative amusement. _“Really.”_

“Really,” Briar Rose confirmed. “I saw the way she was eyeing your jeans, Frank. If I wasn’t in the picture she’d have been all over you like mud on a truck flap.”

He laughed in disbelief, but Briar Rose shook her head in mock-sorrow. “Good thing I’m around to keep you out of the clutches of desperate divorcees with good taste.”

“Perhaps you’d better,” Frank rumbled, turning to her and bending to nuzzle her neck. “We city slickers are pretty clueless out there.”

She tipped her head to give him better access, loving the soft scrape of his bristles against her skin. “I’ll be your body guard. Of course, that means access _to_ your body . . .”

And just like that they were shamelessly all over each other, kissing, nipping, leaning against the railing. Between the cool and the dark, Briar Rose felt tinged with wildness, not quite ready to head back into the hotel room. She undid Frank’s fly and slipped her hand into his boxers, caressing him. He moaned in her mouth, one hand already up under her sweater, the other gripping the rail behind her. 

Briar Rose wriggled, gasping as Frank’s thumb circled on her hard nipple. She used her free hand to yank her sweater off, snagging her bra with it and dropped the clothes on the cement balcony. “Better?” she purred at him, gratified by the way Frank pulled her close again, big hands all over her bare skin.

A few minutes later, Briar Rose pulled back and deliberately dropped to her knees, reaching for his fly once more. Frank hesitated, but she didn’t, freeing his erection, wrapping her fingers around it.

This was one of the few acts that conflicted him, Briar Rose knew. As an old school Catholic Frank had been brought up with the belief that all sex—at least from his participation--was supposed to end with the promise of conception. That was doctrine and despite the fact that she’d never conceive, he still had difficulty with receiving this sort of sensual pleasure.  
“It’s too tempting,” Frank had told her early on. “And it feels selfish. Wickedly so.”

With time and patience however, Briar Rose had slowly convinced him that not only did she enjoy pleasuring him, but that she was willing to stop anytime he asked her to. It was one of the sweet little vulnerabilities about the man and it endeared him to her, especially since it was so one-sided. Frank had no problem pleasuring _her_ , much to Briar Rose’s exhausted delight, and when she pointed out the discrepancy, he responded that ‘preparing her to joyfully accept union’ was also right there in doctrine and he was fully committed to following THAT directive.

She ran her tongue around the hot velvety head of his cock and slipped it into her mouth, thrilled to hear Frank groan as he gripped the railing behind her. “Brat . . .” he accused in a shaky voice.

Briar Rose fought a smile and concentrated, savoring the scent of his musk and the headed suede of his prick. She enjoyed this, particularly with Frank, who always struggled between giving in to the pleasure and trying to forestall his orgasm. The tease for the next few minutes was sweet, especially here in the woody moonlight. Briar Rose felt him thicken on her tongue, heard Frank’s breathing quicken. 

When he squeezed her shoulder she stopped with reluctance, looking up at him. Frank pulled her up and tugged her jeans wrestling them off. “Here,” he growled at her, and she let him lift her to the top railing, which was a cold shock under her ass. Frank guided himself between her thighs before shifting his grip back to the metal bars, and Briar Rose threw her arms around his shoulders, hanging on as he rocked into her, driving a hard cry of pleasure from her lips.

Oh the wild sweetness of the air on her skin, the chill and heat and scrape of it all! She kissed him blindly, legs tightening around Frank’s waist as he thrust hard, teeth nipping the side of her throat. Slick deep strokes, and then he shifted angles, hitting the perfect spot deep inside while grinding against her clit. Briar Rose shuddered, nails digging little half-moons into his shoulders through his shirt as she came in one hard slam of sensation, the wave washing over her like a wave.

Four thrusts more and then Frank grunted, his arms coming around her in a bearhug as she felt his hot pulses deep within her. Blindly Briar Rose nuzzled her way across his scratchy cheek, kissing him as they clung to each other, swaying a little.

“Love you,” he whispered, turning to smile, dimples deep. “By the way; I’ve never done this outside before.”

Briar Rose laughed. “City boy. I’ve got a _lot_ to teach you then.”


	11. Chapter 11

The flight from Charlottesville to Jacksonville was going to be short and Frank was grateful for that. He and Briar Rose had made arrangements to ship a few things back to New York; he’d checked in with Abby as well as Erin and Jamie, and now he was trying to work his way through Walter Isaacson’s biography of Benjamin Franklin. Next to him, Briar Rose had her phone out and was texting someone—probably Lainie.

“Wha dat?” came a chirp of a question.  
Frank glanced up to see a cheerful face peeking at him between the seats ahead of him. He looked at the little girl who stared intently his way.

“Wha dat?” she asked again, pointing, and he gave a patient sigh.

“It’s a mustache,” he told her politely, running his thumb and forefinger from under his nose down each side of it for emphasis.

The little girl disappeared, and seconds later she was standing in the aisle, clinging to his arm rest, looking up at him. “Must?” she questioned.

She looked to be about three and a half, Frank guessed, fearless and inquisitive, her little dreadlocks tipped with colorful plastic clips with daisies on them.

“Mus- _tache_ ,” he emphasized gently, smiling at her. 

Her hand came up and he bent to let her touch the stiff hair, amused but resigned. Frank was used to it being an object of fascination for little people. Babies, including his _own_ had touched, tugged, and even tried to bite it.

“Dezi, don’t bother the nice man, you hear me?” came a tired order around the front seat. 

Dezi however was busy rubbing her small brown hand against the tickly hair. Frank winced; having his mustache manhandled was never comfortable, but her delighted giggles were worth the discomfort. “It GOOD!” she announced.

“Thank you,” Frank told her, giving into a smile at her amusement, which was hard to resist. He liked children; they were remarkable people in his estimation.

“Good, good, good,” Dezi told him, patting his cheek now. “Mus-TASS!”

“I’m glad you like it,” Frank replied. Impishly he added, “Where’s yours?”

Dezi burst into giggles, running her hands over her own face, feeling for what wasn’t there. “Nope gotta,” she replied. The lightning shift from delight to concern startled him, and Dezi hopped a little. “Getta.”

She darted back to her seat, and Frank waited a second before returning to his book. Next to him, Briar Rose gave a soft chuckle. “That thing really _is_ a chick magnet, isn’t it?”

“I bear a heavy burden that way,” he told her with a straight face, smoothing his rumpled whiskers down again before turning back to his book.

In the seat ahead some sort of commotion happened with fumblings and muffled chides until minutes later the seat moved back and another face peered around. This one was older and a little more harried. “Excuse me, honey but could you do me and ma granddaughta this weird favor?” the elderly woman asked Frank in an embarrassed voice, her gaze long-suffering.

“Ma’am?” he leaned forward.

She passed him a purple marker. “Nobody up here is gonna get any peace until my grandchild gets a mustache just like _yours_ , apparently. It’s washable marker and we can clean her up once we land, but for jus a little while, if y’all could see your way to . . .”

“We’d _love_ to,” Briar Rose answered before Frank could, and she reached for the marker. Frank glanced at her but all she did was grin. Dezi appeared in the aisle once again, this time holding her arms out. Sighing, Frank picked her up and set her bottom right on Benjamin Franklin’s face. She patted his upper lip once more.

“Gonna getta,” she told him with the confidence of a three-year-old.

“Hi,” Briar Rose told her with a grin. She uncapped the marker and handed it to Frank. “Go for it.”

Frank looked at the marker and then at bright-eyed Dezi. “You want me to deface a _child_ ,” he murmured dryly.

“Hey, at least she’s not the one drawing on _you_ ,” Briar Rose pointed out. “Come on, it will make her and her grandmother happy.”

He stared at Dezi, who tried to grab the marker; Frank shifted it out of the way.  
“Be good,” he told her. “All right, I’ll do it, but you have to hold still. We don’t want to end up with a Fu Manchu.”

Dezi giggled. 

Patiently Frank managed to gently color in a decent purple approximation, murmuring reassurances to Dezi, who was both ticklish and enthusiastic about the process. He was aware of Briar Rose’s cell phone clicking but opted not to acknowledge it.

“All right sweetie, there you go. You now have an official chevron de cheveux a la Reagan for all the good it will do you.”

Briar Rose held out her phone, the camera on selfie mode. The minute Dezi saw her own face on it, she squealed in utter delight, bouncing in Frank’s lap and making him wince.

“Mus-TASS!” she loudly announced. The passengers across the aisle chuckled, and the steward passing by stopped to admire it. 

“Now I’m jealous, and it’s in my favorite color too!” he told Dezi.

“Gotta mine,” Dezi agreed, patting her face and smearing it slightly. She held out the marker to the steward. “You?” she asked sweetly.

“That’s very generous, honey,” the steward smirked, “but it’s against airline regulations.”

Dezi turned hopefully to Briar Rose, but she had already pulled her braid over her shoulder and under her nose. “Got one,” she told the child.

Suspicious, Dezi stared and then looked at Frank. “Noooo.”

“It _is_ a little strange,” Frank agreed. “Why don’t you go show yours to your grandmother.”

Dezi climbed down and around the seat. “Got-ta!” she announced loudly.

“Oh isn’t that _nice!_ ” came her grandmother’s encouraging reply. “Now you look jes like _Mario!_ ”

Pained, Frank watched his bride smother her gleeful giggles in one thin palm, her face getting pinker and pinker. He glared at her. “Call me Mario in _any_ context and you _too_ will be getting a marker mustache in grape,” Frank murmured in blandly threatening tone. “You have been warned.”

“How about Luigi?” Briar Rose managed.

“You like to live dangerously, don’t you oh Princess Peach?”

\--oo00oo—

After a cheerful goodbye to Dezi and her grandmother as they disembarked, Briar Rose gave a little sigh. “We need to tell Jamie and Eddie to hurry up,” she told Frank. “I’m ready to be a granny.”

He smiled at her. “Granny B-Rose has a nice ring to it.”

They made it to the Fernandina Beach Hampton Inn in under an hour, and Briar Rose let Frank stretch out while she contacted the realtor dealing with Harriet’s property. 

He introduced himself as Langdon Charles and agreed to meet with them later that afternoon, sounding a little guarded at first, but warming up as the conversation went on. “Certainly, with the documentation you’ve sent we can discuss the future of Mrs. Bibbee’s property. It does bring in a tidy income."

"Oh?" Briar Rose replied, surprised. "I thought it was just a house."

Langdon chuckled. "You'll see. 1722 Kitty Way, just off Kimberly Avenue. Three o'clock?"

Briar Rose agreed, her curiosity rising. She'd assumed Harriet's investment was some little Florida cottage, maybe a condo in some elderly group community. Fernandina Beach was at the topmost portion of the state, and not particularly populous compared to some of the other coastal cities like Daytona or Fort Lauderdale.

The very thought of crabby Harriet amid a rush of rowdy, drunk and horny Spring Break students was enough to make her snicker, and she went to go lie down next to Frank, drifting off after a while.

*** *** *** 

Langdon Charles was waiting for them at the corner of the turn-off. He was nearly as tall as Frank and twice as wide, with a perfectly blinding grin. He had on a Hawaiian print shirt of green parrots on a soft pink background, khaki shorts and topsiders. "Lovely to meet you, please call me Langdon. Forgive the attire; I have a barbecue to attend this afternoon," he told them, shaking hands. So, if you'll follow me up the drive--It’s about thirty yards up this way. . . wanted to make sure you didn't miss the turnoff since it's unmarked . . ."

They passed through a green tunnel of trees arching over the gravel road, and Briar Rose shot a look at her husband, who was walking along, hands in his pocket, his expression alert.

"So you're the late Mrs Bibbee's niece. She . . . mentioned you once, I think," Langdon chatted with Briar Rose. "Something about being a beneficiary. Ah, okay we can see it now . . ."

The gravel drive curved and Briar Rose looked up to see a large airy two story house on concrete stilts rising almost above the treetops, white and lacy against the green of the foliage and the blue of the sky. She drew in a breath, startled.

"Wow!"

"It _is_ a nice place," Langdon agreed. "Six bedrooms, three and a half bathrooms; a wraparound porch and central air. Mrs. Bibbee rented it out most of the year so it’s furnished. My company does the groundskeeping and security.”

“Wow,” Frank managed, studying it. “Rented it out?”

“Vacationers and tourists,” Langdon nodded. “It’s quiet and a little out of the way, so most folks come here for the beach, not the nightlife, per se. Mrs. Bibbee was good about keeping up repairs and insuring it against hurricane damage as well. Right now it’s worth about . . .” Langdon rocked his hand back and forth, “a little over a million, all told. It’s not the most expensive property I manage but it’s one of the nicer ones, certainly.”

Briar Rose wobbled a little. “A . . . million?”

“Give or take,” Langdon smiled again. “We’re between reservations at the moment, so let’s take a look inside. You could even _stay_ here if you like.”

Although there was a small personal elevator, all of them opted for the outside stairs, and once at the top, Briar Rose realized they had a clear view of the Atlantic over the treetops. She took a deep breath, savoring the salty air before pulling out her phone and taking a picture.

They wandered through the house, taking in the comfortable open layout, the nicely decorated bedrooms and tidy bathrooms. Briar Rose admired the nautical theme throughout and caught Frank’s approving gaze a few times as Langdon rattled off details. “. . . generally booked through until late August when everyone goes back to school. We have had some folks who like a getaway at Thanksgiving and even a few Christmas guests although not as many since that’s during hurricane season. Things pick up again in February though.”

“How far is it to—” Frank began, but Langdon had the answer before he finished.

“Three hours to Disneyworld driving or flying,” he replied. “A little under two if you want to go to Saint Augustine—that’s a nice day trip, lots of historical sites and shopping. Daytona Beach is a little further and has some good nightlife.”

“So what do people do _here_?” Briar Rose wanted to know.

“Swim, picnic,” Langdon replied, “oh, and fish of course.”

She saw Frank brighten and stroke his mustache. “Really. For?”

“Snook, pompano, shark, redfish,” Langdon told him. “Tarpon if you’re willing to go out on a boat and fight it. It’s a good place to catch your own dinner.”

She caught the unguarded look on Frank’s face and it touched a tender place inside. He rarely had time to himself—this vacation was the first he’d had in four years, he’d told her. The wistful twist of his mouth and quick glance in the direction of the ocean spoke volumes about his unspoken wish. Coming over to him, she slipped an arm around his waist.

“Tell you what,” she spoke softly. “We could cancel the hotel and stay here for tonight. We could even see about renting some rods if you want to give it a try.”

“We don’t _have_ to,” Frank tried to argue back but his heart wasn’t in it, not with the earnest look in his eyes.

“It’s a _vacation_ ,” Briar Rose reminded him, and turned to Langdon who was pretending to look at his phone and smiling. “I think we’ll take that offer to stay if it’s all right with you.”

“I _thought_ you’d say that,” he chuckled, and handed over the keys.


	12. Chapter 12

Matt Williams had run Sunny’s Bait and Tackle for the last forty years, and nothing much surprised him anymore. He’d hung onto the little shop all that time through hurricanes and dry seasons; found alligators on his deck and had survived three robberies. Being a Navy vet helped; he had a pragmatic approach to life and took things as they came.

He had patience as well, which came in handy whenever vacationers stopped in to pick up snacks or ask about fishing gear rentals. Matt generally liked visitors and did his best to chat and pass out local lore; help young’uns with their first fishing rod or give suggestions about where to get a good dinner or a better deal on a fishing charter. Sunny’s did steady business and had a good reputation both with the locals and the tourists.

So when the big fellah and his wife came in during the lull in the late afternoon, Matt looked up and smiled. “How can I hep you folks?”

Had to be ex-military or ex-cop, Matt figured. The man walked with natural-born authority even though he was in a sweatshirt and shorts. His cap had a Giants logo and Matt winced inwardly; Northerner for sure. Nevertheless, Matt kept a pleasant expression.

“I’m looking to rent some fishing gear,” the man replied. “And I’d like some advice about surf fishing. Most of what I’ve done previously is straight dock.”

Matt’s smile widened. “You’ve come to the right place then. Matt Williams,” he held out a calloused hand. The other man shook it once, smiling back.

“Frank Reagan.”

“All right Frank, let’s talk rods. I can set you up with a Team Daiwa middleweight pole and baitcast reel along with a surf rig. Where have you fished before?” As he asked, Matt noticed the woman drift off to look at the postcard rack. Long gal with damned nice legs. Probably a second wife.

“Staten Island,” Frank replied. “Live bait mostly.”

“Live bait works here too,” Matt assured him. “Best catch?”

“Ten pound bluefish. Had a spiny dogfish that was bigger, but it broke the line,” Frank told him with a shrug.

“Spinys are good eatin’ ya know,” Matt told him. “Clean ‘em right and they’re delicious, ‘specially pan-fried.”

He watched Frank glance at his gal, who looked up from the postcard rack. “You catch it and I’ll cook it,” she told him with a grin. 

Nice. So if the wife was gonna do that, then they’d be fine. “Okay then. What bait do you fancy? We’ve got minnows and some chunk bait . . . oh! lemme show you the surf rig we use around here . . .”

Within half an hour Matt had them set up, and knocked three bucks off the rental out of goodwill. From the way Frank handled the equipment it was clear the man knew what he was doing, and Matt had faith everything would come back in good shape.

“So here’s your five day license and bait,” Matt handed over the paper and a plastic bag. “Also a sheet of the most common fish so you can identify your catches. Shop opens at six and closes at nine and here’s our website—got some recipes on it, and a couple of coupons you can download. Good luck!”

The wife brought over a few things and Matt approved too: sunscreen; couple of postcards; one of the cheap Styrofoam coolers and a few sodas. As he rang them up he saw her lean closer to Frank.

“Going get some Partagas too?” he heard her murmur.

He didn’t answer but he smiled, and Matt took the credit card with a little sigh. He’d seen all kinda couples on vacation from newlyweds to just-on-the-brink of divorcing types and it never ceased to amaze him when he spotted the truly happy ones. From the way the wife was looking at her husband, Matt figured only _part_ of their time here was gonna be spent fishing, that was pretty clear.

“Where you folks stayin? Elizabeth Point Lodge, or the Seaside Inn?” Matt asked.

“Beach house,” the woman replied. “Off of Kimberly.”

Matt glanced up. “The big one? On Kitty Lane? Oh that’s nice place. One of the first one built around here.”

“It’s comfortable,” the woman agreed. “Know anything about the, ah, owner?”

Matt thought back a moment. “Nah, not much. She came by once with the manager long time ago. Not real friendly, but them business types usually aren’t.”

He watched Frank pick up the cooler and slide an arm around his wife’s waist. “Sounds about right. I think we should get going . . .”

The wife nodded, picking up the rest of the goods and Matt enjoyed watching her walk out. Some women were _made_ for wearing shorts and Lord she was _one_ of ‘em.

Then Matt went back to loading up the Pennysaver rack, hoping Frank had some good fishing for the next few days.

\--oo00oo—

The trail down to the beach wasn’t long; maybe a hundred yards all told. Frank led the way trying to keep himself from walking too fast. The problem with being tall was having a long stride, but luckily Briar Rose wasn’t having a problem keeping up. The sand dunes were the last hurdle, and once over them, Frank looked out along the beach with a sense of peaceful satisfaction. No one else was in sight, not here in the thin light of dawn. The tide was going out, a slight breeze ruffled the sea oats and the susurration of the waves added to the serenity.

He took in a deep breath, savoring it. “Nice.”

Briar Rose came to stand beside him, gazing at the ocean. “Agreed. Lead on, oh Master of Fishermen.”

“Scoff all you want; I’m confident,” Frank told her, moving down the dune towards the water. Halfway down he found a smooth spot on the cool sand and helped spread the old blanket they’d found in the locker under the beach house. Briar Rose set up the two low beach chairs and promptly parked herself into one, pulling out her cellphone and taking pictures of the sunrise along the shore.

Frank busied himself with the fishing gear: setting out the plastic cutting board, pouring the ice in the cooler, testing the weight of the sinker and baiting the two hooks with bits of thawed shrimp. He caught the mono-filament line and studied the lumps of bait carefully.

“Time to spit,” Briar Rose teased him. 

Frank shot her a look. “Care to do the honors?” he challenged.

Briar Rose rolled her eyes but leaned forward. “Hold it downwind.”

The fact that his wife could manage to make spitting look elegant amused him, and Frank swung the line away from her once the deed was done, flashing her a grin. “Now the burden of the catch is on _you_ , Brat. We’ll see if anything bites.”

“Just remember _I_ bite,” she shot back before settling back in the canvas chair.

He walked down to the water’s edge and stared out, looking for the perfect spot in the blue. Once he had it, Frank cocked the reel and snapped the rod, sending the weighted end of the line zinging out in a beautiful arc over the water, watching it ‘plunk’ into the spot he’d picked.

A quick quarter turn to set the tension, and Frank widened his stance, settling into a comfortable wait.  
Fishing. Fishing was the fairest form of hunting, as far as he was concerned. The prey had the choice, and a fighting chance to get away, which Frank felt was more interesting than heading into the woods with a rifle. Fishing gave you time to set your mind at rest, or chew on an issue until you had it unraveled to your satisfaction. Fishing let you drift while being fully aware of everything around you.

He let himself slip into the simple contemplative state, enjoying the scent of the sea and the beauty of the small waves curling up to break and stretch out along the pale sand, feeling at peace.

A few tiny tugs on the line, but nothing substantial. Frank figured it was probably a crab, and reeled in a few clicks. He felt Briar Rose’s presence as she came over to him, her sunglasses shading her eyes but her smile sweet. “Need anything?”

“Nope, got it all right now,” Frank assured her. “ _Piscatura veritas_.”

“Latin. You just quoted something in Latin at me,” Briar Rose snickered.

“In fishing, truth,” Frank translated. “Elegant and profound.”

“Two can play at that game,” Briar Rose replied. “ _Qui piscator erat, amica mea._ ”

Frank puzzled on that, and as he did so the tip of the rod bounced hard; he braced his grip on the butt end, and began to reel in, feeling the tough jerks vibrating down the line. 

The fish fought, and with a LOT more resistance than he was used to.

Cranking the reel slowly, Frank managed to bring the fish into the shallows where it struggled, splashing in the shallows, fighting hard.

Briar Rose moved into the water and carefully wrapped the sleeve of her hoodie around her hand before grabbing the line and lifting it. Writhing on the end was a large, annoyed fish, flexing back and forth as she made her way back up onto the sand, straining to carry it. “Frank! This thing’s huge!”

He agreed with her, realizing his catch was nearly the length of her forearm. Frank took over, setting the fish on the cutting board and resting a foot on it while he worked the hook free from its lower lip. 

With a quick little prayer to St. Francis, Frank uncapped the icepick from his pocket and made the humane jab into the brainpan, dispatching the fish within seconds.

“That was fast,” Briar Rose murmured faintly. “Wow.”

“Ika jime,” Frank told her. “Best way to end things for a fish. Pass me the knife, will you?”

He gutted the fish, rinsing it in the water before carrying it up and laying it in the cooler on the ice. “Sea bass,” Frank told Briar Rose. “Three pounder I’d guess.”

She laughed. "My spit brings all the fish to the hook."

An hour later they trudged home with the sea bass and three medium redfish in the cooler. Frank was quietly elated; this was the best day fishing he’d had in a long time. When they got to the beach house, Briar Rose carefully cleaned the catch, showing dexterity with a blade that he hadn’t seen before as she scaled and filleted the fish before wrapping them in paper towels and refrigerating them.

“Well there’s dinner,” she assured him. “Nicely done sweetheart—let’s go find a grocery store and pick up some lemon and butter.”

***

The next three days were among the nicest Frank had ever had. Fishing in the morning, walks on the beach, afternoons exploring Fernandina Beach and the nearby towns including Waterwheel Cigar in Amelia City. He and Briar Rose made good use of the beach house, making love in nearly every room, and enjoying time together and apart.

And they had conversations.

“So . . . you don’t want to try and find your birth mother?” Frank murmured. They were sprawled in the living room on the tropical print overstuffed sofa enjoying a lazy afternoon. Frank had tried to get back into the biography but hadn’t succeeded.

“I don’t think so,” Briar Rose replied from the other end, her bare feet in his lap. “I mean what would be the point? I had a mother, and a very good one. I can live with the idea that my birth mother gave me up for my own good. I don’t need closure because I never had any knowledge of her prior to a few months ago.”

Frank chewed on that. “All right,” he agreed. “I can see your reasoning and I think you make some good points. I’m sorry and I always will be that your family wasn’t upfront with you about this, though.”

Briar Rose sighed. “Me too,” she admitted. “And it pisses me off that my aunt was so spiteful about it all. I worked at loving her because she was family . . . or so I thought.”

He played with her toes, distracting her for a moment. “The wicked witch in your fairy tale. Still . . . this property is a nice consolation prize. What are your thoughts about this place?”

“A living trust,” Briar Rose replied without hesitating. “We’ll sit down with an attorney and work out the rules, then turn the management back over to Langdon and Erin, I think. She’d be good at keeping track of it all.”

Frank nodded. “So we’d be able to schedule using it among us, and divide the income from the rentals equitably . . . sounds like you’ve _thought_ about this.”

“Don’t tell me _you_ haven’t,” Briar Rose grinned at him, wiggling her feet a little at his touch. “If Fernandina Beach is doing good for _you_ , imagine what it would do for Danny, or your dad. Jamie and Eddy could use time down here too.”

Frank nodded. “True. I can vouch for the decompressive charms of the place. George would love it as well.”

“We’ll bring him next visit,” Briar Rose grinned. “In the meantime, I believe you and I have a little unfinished business with a bottle of Redbreast, some latex and a black lace nightie, Beloved.”


	13. Chapter 13

She was getting to know him better all the time, Briar Rose realized, and that thrilled her. Francis Xavier Reagan had far more layers than he ever showed anyone, and the slow, patient process of discovering them was an exercise in love all on its own. The outward calm and discipline he projected held in far more complicated emotional perspectives and Briar Rose gave him the chance to share himself with her at his own pace.

“What I was taught about human sexuality by the Church and my parents was . . . pretty narrow,” he admitted over dinner at the Le Clos, his expression thoughtful. “Far more ‘don’ts’ than ‘dos’ and not many graphic details about the various processes. Went through a pretty conflicted puberty, constantly bouncing between heavy rounds of masturbating and then confessing about it. I’m sure Father Constantine found it hilarious at the time. I didn’t.”

Briar Rose gave a sympathetic wince. “A tough time in life for everyone as hormones begin to do their work.”

“Yes,” he nodded. “It wasn’t until I was in the Marines that I got a far more . . . detailed education about sex. Not through practice,” Frank added with a quick grin, “but whenever groups of men are together _without_ women for any extended period of time the discussion invariably turns to the subject of women, and in between the bragging and profanity there are some . . . insights.”

“Oh really?” She fought a smile, working on her best bland expression but Briar Rose knew it didn’t fool him; Frank met her gaze squarely.

“Really. I listened. Took mental notes. And over the course of my first marriage, found some truths about women and myself. This shouldn’t be a surprise to you, sweetheart.” 

“It’s not,” she admitted. “You’re intelligent and compassionate, so I give you credit for that right off the bat. But even with that going for you . . . for us . . . I know not everything’s of mutual interest.”

It was delightful to see him blush by candlelight, his embarrassed glance taking in the tablecloth. “Well no, but that goes both ways too. Neither of us are people at the ends of the spectrum even though we both know what some of those entail. I never worked Vice but any policeman gets an education in the extremes just through virtue of the job.”

“No whips and chains,” Briar Rose teased. “No playing Master and Servant, yes I know.”

“Well I didn’t say _that_ ,” he replied, eyes twinkling. “You’d make a sexy French maid.”

“How quickly it all comes back to that black lace,” she pointed out with a quick grin, sobering a moment later, “but honestly, Frank, I love you and I don’t want to put you in a position of doing anything that goes against your conscience or interests. Just because I enjoy certain . . . activities doesn’t mean you’re required to try them.”

She wanted to be reassuring as she could. Frank, for all his worldly demeanor was sometimes still a little sheltered, and despite what he might fantasize about, putting the same into practice might be his balking point.

Briar Rose wasn’t sure when she’d gotten so protective of the big man sitting opposite her. 

“But I’d _like_ to,” Frank admitted, definitely blushing now. “If I were a younger man I’d be caught up in the letter of doctrine and an utter hypocrite about it because it’s something I _have_ . . . thought about. More than a few times.”

The waiter came over and took their finished plates, murmuring something about a dessert menu. Briar Rose gave a nod and soon was studying a little card with luscious images on it before speaking up. “No . . . spiritual conflicts then?”

Frank gave a gusty sigh. “We are at an age where fulfillment of marital doctrine is over, Briar Rose. I’ve produced four children, which is a pretty good quota. I didn’t count on falling in love again and having my libido rise from the ashes the way it has, but I’m very, very grateful to have you in my life. From this point on, our lovemaking is to strengthen our unity and bind us as a devoted couple. That means that the obligation to end in a procreative act is no longer a requirement per se, more of a habit.”

She looked up from the menu. “You’ve really given this some serious consideration,” Briar Rose mused.

“And prayer,” Frank agreed. “What looks good on the menu?”

“The key lime pie,” she told him, and they ordered a serving along with two forks. When the waiter left, Briar Rose reached across the table to take Frank’s hand, enjoying the warmth.

“So I guess this is the roundabout way of saying yes, you’d like to . . . give it a shot?”

The look he gave her was priceless; love, exasperation, that touch of that boyish vulnerability that made her heart melt. “Yes. Going to need some directions and ah, encouragement though. I don’t really have a clue about the . . . mechanics beyond the obvious.”

She wanted to laugh, but didn’t; Briar Rose found herself touched by Frank’s honesty. Squeezing his hand, she wrinkled her nose at him. “I’ll coach you through it, sweetheart and we’re going to have a lovely time.”

\--oo00oo—

Briar Rose knew she had been lucky when it had come to lovers. Perhaps not as lucky in relationships, but in terms of sexual compatibility she’d picked men who had been good partners over the years. Not that there had been many. Three, altogether, and one didn’t count because she and John had only made love once. Still, Wendell had been considerate in their time together despite how things ended and Roger . . . Roger had been a marvelous teacher.

Tall, thin and white-haired, with a goatee that made him look a bit like a satyr at times, Roger St. Clare had come into her life nearly twelve years back when they’d both been called for the same jury duty pool. He’d been fun and charming, making it perfectly clear right from the beginning that he wasn’t the sort to ever settle down. Briar Rose had accepted that; she wasn’t really looking for anything serious herself and with that in mind, they soon became lovers.

Roger was patient, well-versed in sex, and he’d shown Briar Rose exactly how pleasurable a lot of the alternatives to straight sex could be, how responsive her body could be with care and preparation. Consequently after a year when Roger told her he was moving to Greece, Briar Rose was sad but ready to let him go. They were very compatible in bed, but he was decidedly restless everywhere else, and he’d been honest about that from the beginning.

Still, his lessons had been delicious, and having the opportunity to teach Frank made Briar Rose shiver with delighted anticipation. She wanted the entire encounter to be oh so good for him, and that meant patience on her part.

When they reached the beach house, Briar Rose followed Frank up the staircase, absently realizing for the first time that there was a small recessed spot on the wall at the top of the stairs. Puzzled, she pointed at the lit two buttons one with an up arrow, one with a down arrow. “What’s this?”

“Hmmm,” Frank reached over and poked the up button; with a small whirring sound the stairs unlatched from the cement base and retracted, sliding up, each step folding flat until the collected case formed a barrier at the top. “Extra security,” he noted approvingly. “By pulling up the stairs nobody can get in. With the elevator locked, we’re safe from all sorts of issues.”

“Oh good. I’d hate the zombie apocalypse to interrupt us tonight.” 

“Me too,” Frank agreed, “I’m not always good at multitasking.”

That made her laugh.

After their long hot shower, he watched her lay out the accouterments with interest: the bottle of lube and condoms; the towel. Briar Rose opted for the soft glow of the bedside electric candle as well. “All right,” she glanced at Frank. “First thing—a nightcap.”

That he could do. He poured the amber-sweet cognac for both of them and Briar Rose motioned for him to join her sitting up against the headboard, both of them in bathrobes. She sipped it, speaking quietly. “Lots of kissing,” she told him. “And all those things you do SO well, sweetheart. Nothing’s in a rush. And then we’ll start focusing on my backside. Lots of lube, lots of slow teasing---you’re going to drive me crazy with that of course.”

“I’m very goal-oriented,” Frank agreed, enjoying the burn of the brandy.

“And how. And then we’ll . . . suit you up and take it from there,” Briar Rose replied softly. “Um, you do know how to put on a condom, right?”

The sidelong glance he gave her made her splutter. “You’re _kidding_ , right?”

“Just checking. Never hurts to check,” she told him, taking another deep sip.

By the time they’d finished their nightcap, Briar Rose felt wonderfully mellow. Playful in fact. She rolled over, sliding a long leg across her husband and batted her eyes at him. “I’m going to kiss your _whole_ face,” she announced.

“Not if I kiss yours first,” he countered, moving to do so. They shifted, slipping out of their bathrobes and spent time sharing the taste of cognac with each other. Briar Rose savored the heat of Frank’s mouth, and the brush of that mustache against the sensitive skin of her throat. He was deliberately slow, exploring under her chin and along the join of her neck and shoulder as she shivered.

She loved the scent of his skin and his big frame; the unselfconscious way Frank turned his whole attention to her in moments like this. Shifting, Briar Rose caught one of his hands and guided it between her hips. “Please,” she whispered against the faint stubble on his cheek. “You know . . .”

He did, oh yes he did and after a little while Briar Rose gave a little squeal, clamping her thighs around his wrist, nipping his shoulder as she came in a fierce rush of pleasure. Frank grinned at her, utterly entertained when she sighed, pinching her nipples in the afterglow.

“We would have turned each other to _charcoal_ as teenagers,” he murmured, pulling back his slick thumb and fingers. 

“What a way to go,” Briar Rose agreed. She rolled to reach for the lube and condom, her hair loose now. “I think you need some stroking there, sweetheart.”

He was sweetly receptive to that, and Briar Rose was glad that they both had some staying power at this point in their lives. Sweet as fierce passion was, the slow build-up was just as magnificent. A few drops of lube into the end of the condom and she slid it onto his veiny shaft, having to tug it around his girth. Frank watched her, his expression mischievous.

“Need help?”

She snorted, and wrapped both hands around his thick cock, twisting and lightly squeezing, making him moan involuntarily. “I’ve got it handled, thanks.”

His response was to bite back a deep groan, hips rocking a bit.

Briar Rose teased him lightly for a bit and then rolled away from him, shifting. “Side by side,” she whispered. “Better for our knees.” Turning her head she kissed him as Frank pressed up against her, trapping his cock between them, rubbing it along the base of her spine.

He held out a hand and she dribbled lube onto it. Moving gently, Frank slid his touch down the curve of her ass, gently working his fingers along the sweet seam, chuckling as he did so. “All I can think is it’s like . . . peaches in syrup.”

“Aww,” Briar Rose grinned. “That’s adora—ooooooooh,” she moaned. “Yes, like that. Tease me. I’m going to love you and hate you at the same time if you keep doing that.”

The slide and press of his fingers between her cheeks sent sweet throbs through her, and Briar Rose wriggled. She pressed a hand between her legs, aware she was aroused, aware that the sensations were shifting now. “More,” she whispered, turning her head to kiss him. 

His gaze was heavy-lidded now, and Briar Rose could feel his cock throbbing a little. “Damn,” was all Frank could manage. His middle finger lightly breeched her, and Briar Rose wriggled again.

“Yessss,” she pushed back against him. “Slow, but more please. It feels fabulous!”

With a little more lube and some patience Briar Rose found herself sighing with pleasure, savoring the shivers. She felt hot and chilled by turns, and the slow rise of desire made her impatient as she writhed.

“More,” she murmured, “Two fingers. I’m good, I’m soooo good right now.”

He gave a little groan himself, grinding against her spine, doing as she asked, fingers stroking gently into her. “Like this?”

“Love this,” Briar Rose assured Frank. “Remember when I showed _you_ how nice your prostate could feel?”

Frank’s low chuckle was answer enough, as was the nip of his teeth against her shoulder.

And after a few delicious minutes, she sighed. “Okay, just . . . let me bring my knee up . . . move closer, and just . . .”

He did, and Briar Rose felt the hot blunt head of his cock pressing against her, slick and hot through the latex. She exhaled. “Push. Just a little. Just enough to . . . start.”

The stretch burned a little, but that faded turning to a low vibe of heavy pleasure. Briar Rose felt Frank’s breathing stutter a little, and his hand tightened around his shaft.

“Yess,” she reassured him. “Nice. Slowly. I can take more. Just push slow. Feels _so_ good . . .”

The slick pressure of his prick hit all the most receptive nerves and Briar Rose gave pleasured moan, one hand blindly reached back for him, her hand settling on his hip. “Ohyess! There. rightttthere! More!”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Frank managed through gritted teeth, clearly at the last of his control.

“You won’t,” she shot back. “Please. I want you!”

Gradually he was there, deep and hot; she felt every throb and rocked back, setting a gentle rhythm that he matched, their gasps and groans in sweet tandem. Briar Rose dropped her hand between her thighs and pressed against her stiff little nub, feeling the pleasure spiral all through her body in waves that drove a hot growl of delight from deep in her throat.

And that sound was apparently enough to set Frank off. He gripped her damp thigh and thrust, his big body shuddering against hers as he came hard.


	14. Chapter 14

The early Mass at St. Michael started at seven thirty; they were among the tiny handful attending. Frank did his best to stay unobtrusive, but when Briar Rose glanced at him during the hymns he realized how enthusiastically he’d been singing.

“They’re songs of worship, not _show tunes_ ,” she chided in a whisper. “You’ve got a nice tenor but the good Lord’s not taking your audition just yet.”

“Just feeling . . . jubilant,” Frank mumbled, but he toned it down with a wry grin. Certainly he felt he had a lot to be thankful for at the moment. After the service he and Briar Rose shook the priest’s hand as they left the church.

“Nice to hear the back row keeping up, hymn-wise,” Father Harold beamed at Frank. “Shows me you’re awake. Come to think of it, keeps ME awake! New to the area?”

“Vacationers,” Briar Rose told him. “But we plan on visiting regularly.”

“Oh good, good—everyone’s always welcome!” Father Harold assured them before turning to greet another parishioner. They headed to the rental car, and Briar Rose gave a little sigh.

“Last day. What would you like to do, sweetheart?”

“A little more of everything we’ve _been_ doing,” came his contented reply.

They headed out again to the beach, and this time Frank handed the fishing rod to his wife. “ _You_ give it a shot,” he told her. “It’s only fair.”

Briar Rose gave him a bright-eyed look. “You’re trusting _me_ to fling a sharp barb around?”

Just to tease her he pretended to hesitate. “Okay, maybe this wasn’t a good idea---”

She snorted, proceeded to bait the hooks, ceremonially spit, and walk to the water’s edge as Frank watched. Lightly Briar Rose cast, sending the bait and weight arcing out just beyond the break line of the waves.

“Atta girl,” Frank told her, settled back into the beach chair, reaching for his book.

For a good twenty minutes everything was peaceful. A man and a dog walked by, the dog veering over to Frank for a sniffing and a petting. A few seagulls landed and eyed the bait can. The waves rolled in and slid out again in the slow heartbeat of the ocean. A few more people were out now, mostly further down the beach.

Frank considered having a cigar. He was about to check the pocket of his windbreaker when he heard the hard ‘zing’ of line and a frightened yell. Frank saw Briar Rose pitch forward, barely catching her balance. The pole in her hands was bending hard and he jolted up out of his chair, running to her, wrapping his arms around her. “Hold on!”

“I’m _trying!_ ” she yelled breathlessly. “Damn it!”

Frank braced his hands over hers, gripping the pole, feeling the hard pull of whatever was on the other end of the line. The tension on the monofilament was straining hard, and he released the bail, letting line run free with another zinging sound thrumming up the pole. “We’ll tire him out,” he told Briar Rose. “Let him run and crank him in slowly. This one’s big,” Frank added knowingly. “Maybe bigger than anything this line was meant for.”

“Nearly yanked the rod out of my hands,” she agreed, digging her bare feet in and bracing back against Frank.

They worked their catch together slowly, cranking in a few feet, letting it out again every few minutes, and Frank found himself talking soothingly to Briar Rose as he did so. “We have the advantage. The hook’s set, and while the fish may be fighting it, we’re not the ones panicking here. Slow and steady, bring it in a little more each time . . . Did we bring the net?”

“It’s inside the cooler,” Briar Rose reminded him. “Want me to get it?”

“Not just yet,” Frank kept his eye on the point where the line entered the water. “We’ve got a little while with this beast.”

Oddly, despite the initial fear, it felt almost fun to be wrapped around Briar Rose, working the fish into the shallows. She was lean and strong, and almost as excited as he was. Almost.

“My palms are cramping,” she muttered. “Good thing I didn’t have my thumb on the line.”

“True,” Frank agreed. “All right, it’s been about a quarter of an hour-- let’s start reeling in click by click. We’ll keep it steady.”

Turn by turn they drew the line in, and the struggles lessened with the sharp tugs coming less often. Finally the dark shape passed from the wave line into the upslope of the beach, and Briar Rose squealed.

“Oh. Dear. God that is a SHARK!” she called out, bouncing. Frank turned his face so she didn’t hit his nose with the back of her head.

“Makes sense. Let’s get it up on the beach . . .”

A few people were running over now, and Frank worried someone would get hurt, but instead, a young man offered to help, fetching the net, and keeping everyone else back. By Frank’s quick estimate the shark, which looked to be some sort of rounded hammerhead, was at least four and a half feet long.

“Ya’ll caught a bonnethaid!” The young man announced. “Thass a feast rat there! Good feelays on a bonnethaid!”

“Needs to be dispatched,” Frank commented, but the young man was ready.

“Lorena, grab my nail gun, baby!” he waved to a young woman who raced away and back again within a minute, holding out the tool to him. “Less drop a towel over him so he won’t thrash so much. They’re not biters, but they do wiggle.”

Frank was impressed with how quickly the young man managed to straddle the fish and press the gun to the right spot; how quickly the shark went slack. He looked at the young man, who looked up at him and gave a shrug.

“Hate to see ‘em suffer,” he murmured. “They’re God’s creatures too, ya know?”

“Yes,” Frank agreed. “I’m just impressed you had . . .” he waved at the nail gun.

“Was in my truck. I do odd jobs,” he replied sunnily. “So . . . ya’ll otter get a pitcher before cutting this big boy up.”

They did, holding up the shark between them; afterwards Briar Rose got to work with the knife and the cutting board.

The young man with the nail gun nodded. “Ah, jest a tip—don’t rinse off in the ocean if you can help it. Use the run-off from the ice in your cooler here in the sand. And just berry them guts at the high tide line, or leave ‘em out for the gulls. Don’t want to bring in any more sharks in rat now, not with young’uns swimmin around.”

Frank nodded. “Would you like a few fillets?”

“Wouldn’t say no,” the young man grinned. “And thank yew!”

It was only after they’d given part of the catch to the young man who’d carried if off happily and were cleaning the rest of the shark that Frank saw Briar Rose hold up a globby bit of innards.

“Stomach,” she murmured. “I think. Something in there is kind of . . . hard.”

“Fish bones,” he guessed. “Other fishing lures and weights maybe.”

“One way to find out,” Briar Rose murmured and deftly slit it open in a way that reminded Frank that yes, he’d married a surgeon. She dug a grimy finger inside and scooped out something flat followed by something long and slimy.

“Huh. It’s . . . a necklace.”

After rinsing it off though, Frank saw it wasn’t. The heavy oval disc gleamed in the sunlight, and the image of the bearded man on the gold chain made it clear what it was. Reverently he held it up, feeling a sense of wonderment at this serendipity.

“Saint Andrew,” he murmured to Briar Rose.

She thought hard. “Patron saint of---”

“Fishermen,” Frank told her quietly.

Briar Rose looked at the medal and then back at Frank, blue eyes wide. “There’s a _reason_ this happened,” she told him, half amused, half serious. “And I know a _sign_ when I see it.  
Sweetheart, you need to wear that when you go fishing from now on.”

“ _You_ caught the fish,” Frank pointed out.

“I only hooked it-- _you_ landed it,” she countered patiently. “And you _are_ the fisherman, so you need the protection more.”

She held his gaze and after a moment, Frank slipped the medal into his pocket, caught up in the solemn mystery.

*** *** ***

“Earrings for Erin, Nicky and Eddie; tee-shirts for Sean, Jack, Danny and Jamie and for your father . . .” Briar Rose held out a box of alligator jerky before returning it to the suitcase she was packing.

Frank looked from the box to her, his dimples flashing. “You’re serious.”

“Why not? Even if he never tries it, just _having_ it is pretty cool,” Briar Rose countered. “Come on, work with me here! I have a family now; I want to spoil them!”

He gave an indulgent shrug. “Your prerogative of course. You’d think becoming part-owners in a million-dollar beach house _might_ be enough . . .”

“Pfft! That’s not the same as getting a little present,” she argued. “What would _you_ like as a souvenir?”

“I already _have_ a few,” Frank reminded her with a knowing glance. “Including some pretty incendiary memories, of brat of mine. We need to get moving though, if we want to make our flight.”

They finished packing and dropped off the key with Langdon, who took it and told them he was already working on the trust paperwork. As Frank headed the rental car towards Jacksonville, Briar Rose gave a gusty sigh. “So . . . this was wonderful.”

He nodded. “Yes. Wrapped up the business in Cherry Hollow, and this unexpected bonus here in Florida turned into the best vacation I’ve had in years.”

“All because a spiteful old relative made a good investment,” Briar Rose rolled her eyes. “I guess it’s true—there’s a silver lining in every cloud.”

“Clouds break,” Frank replied. “Eventually you see what’s behind them. I’m sorry that Harriet wasn’t a better person, but we can enjoy what she’s left us.”

“Amen,” Briar Rose agreed.

*** *** ***

The first Sunday dinner back was pot roast; Briar Rose and Sean made it with oversight from Henry and hopeful mooching looks from George. After grace, once everyone had settled in passing rolls and potatoes and green beans, Frank lightly cleared his throat, gaining everyone’s attention.

“Briar Rose got everyone a few souvenirs,” he murmured, “even though I tried to talk her out of it.”

That got a few chuckles; at the other end of the table, his wife gave him a mild glare.

“But there’s more. You all saw the pictures and videos we sent--”

“—man, that _shark_ one!” Sean interjected, only to blush. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Go on, Grandpa.”

“Of the beach house she inherited from her . . . aunt,” Frank went on. “She and I wanted to let you know that it’s now ours. ALL of ours,” he added. “Every person at this table who is over twenty-one now has an eighth share in it.”

Quick pandemonium. Everyone tried to talk at once, and Frank met Briar Rose’s giggly gaze down the long length of the table. She rose up, drawing everyone’s attention and waited for the noise to die down.

“You’re my family,” Briar Rose told them. “Call it . . . I don’t know, a belated dowry I guess. Your father and I had a lovely time there, and I want all of you to enjoy it as well. When we’re not down there it will be bringing in income so that’s a bonus.”

“But that’s so . . .” Erin began, looking a little overwhelmed. 

And Nicky chimed up. “Thank you,” she blurted.

A chorus of ‘thank yous’ went around the table, and Briar Rose blinked back a few tears. 

“You’re welcome,” she told them. “Now let’s eat so you can get to the tacky presents in the living room over pie.”

She sat down, looking once again up the table to see Frank gazing back at her, his expression tender. 

“Succotash,” he mouthed at her before starting in on his potatoes.


	15. Chapter 15

Epilog

From the New York Times Society Section:

_Francis Xavier Reagan and Briar Rose Althea Thais Clowderbock were wed in a private ceremony on Saturday, June fifteenth at St. Andrews Church in downtown Manhattan. Monsignor Walter Donahue officiated._

_The bride and groom met a year earlier at the New York Philharmonic gala._

_The bride, 58, is an obstetrics surgeon at Langdon Hospital in Brooklyn, and is the daughter of Charlotte and Daniel Clowderbock of Cherry Hollow West Virginia._

_The groom, 62, is the current Police Commissioner for the city of New York. He is the son of Elizabeth and Henry Reagan of Bay Ridge New York, a former Police Commissioner for the city of New York._

_The reception for two hundred and fifty family and friends was held at the Four Seasons ballroom and was catered by Augustine._

_In lieu of gifts, the couple have requested donations to the Police and Fire Widows and Children’s Benefit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that tidies that up for now. I do have one more story planned; hopefully nothing as long as these two. Thank you so much for reading and leaving feedback--I'm very grateful!


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